"The proprietor of the barber's shop over which Mr. Kenneth Dowsett is sleeping--but, perhaps, not sleeping, for a sword is hanging above his head, and he may be gazing at the phantom in terror--say, then, over which he is lying, is an agreeable person. I have struck up an acquaintance with him, and, by arrangement, shall be in his saloon to-morrow, to attend to any persons who may present themselves. Mr. Dowsett will probably need the razor and the brush. I can easily account for my appearance in Boulogne; I have come to see my friend and brother. Mr. Dowsett, unsuspecting--for what connection can he trace between me and Lizzie Melladew?--will place himself in my hands. He has told me that there is not my equal; he may find that it is so. In order that I may not miss him I go to the house to-night. Early in the morning come you, alone, to the Rue de la Paix. You can ride to the foot of the hill, there alight, and on the right-hand side, a third of the way up, you will see my new friend's establishment. I will find you a snug corner from which you may observe and hear, yourself unseen, all that passes. Are you satisfied now that I am keeping faith with you?"
"Indeed, you are proving it," I replied.
"Give me no more credit than I deserve," said Devlin. "It is simply that I keep a promise. In the fulfilment of this promise--both in the spirit and to the letter, my dear sir--I may to-morrow unfold to you a wonder. It is my purpose to compel the man we have pursued to himself reveal all that he knows of Lizzie Melladew. Perhaps it will be as well for you to take down in writing what passes between us. Accept it from me that there are unseen forces and unseen powers in this world, so rich in sin, of which few men dream. See those shadows moving on the water--are they not like living spirits? The dark river itself, had it a tongue, could appal you. On such nights as this are secret crimes committed by devils who bear the shape of men. What kind of being is that who smiles in your face, who presses your hand, who speaks pleasant words to you, and harbours all the while in what is called his heart a fell design towards the execution of which he moves without one spark of compassion? I don't complain of him, my dear sir; on the contrary"--and here, although I could not see Devlin's face, I could fancy a sinister smile overspreading it--"I rather delight in him. It proves him to be what he is--and he is but a type of innumerable others. Your innocent ones are arrogant in the vaunting of their goodness; your ambitious ones glory in their successes which bring ruin to their brethren; your kings and emperors appropriate Providence, and do not even pay him a shilling for the conscription. A grand world, and grandly peopled! The man who glories in sin compels my admiration; but this one whom we are hunting is a coward and a sneak. He shall meet his doom!"
As he ceased speaking he vanished; I can find no other word to express the effect his sudden disappearance had upon me. Whether he intended to create a dramatic surprise I cannot say, but, certainly, he was no longer by my side. With some difficulty I found my way alone back to the Hotel de Poilly, where Carton was fast asleep.
[CHAPTER XXVIII.]
THE TRANCE AND THE REVELATION.
Of all the strange experiences I have narrated in connection with Devlin, that which awaited me on the following morning was the most startling and inexplicable. Prevailing with difficulty upon Richard Carton to remain at the hotel until I either came to or sent for him, I drove to the foot of the Rue de la Paix, as I was instructed to do. I took the precaution to hire the driver of the fly by the hour, and desired him to stop where I alighted until I needed him. I was impelled to this course by a feeling that I might possibly require some person to take a message to Carton or bring him to the Rue de la Paix. I found the barber's shop easily, and could scarcely refrain from uttering a loud exclamation at the sight of Mr. Kenneth Dowsett sitting in a barber's chair, and Devlin standing over him, leisurely at work. Devlin, with his finger at his lips, pointed to a table in a corner of the shop, at which I seated myself in obedience to the silent command. On the table were writing materials and paper, and on a sheet of this paper was written: "You are late. I have thrown Mr. Dowsett into a trance. He will reveal all he knows. I will compel him to do so. Take down in writing what transpires."
My heart throbbed violently as I prepared myself for the task.
Devlin: "Do you know where you are?"
Mr. Dowsett: "Yes, in Boulogne."