I lay down beside her, and although no sound at that time came to my ears, it was easy to believe that she was not labouring under a delusion.
“Could you hear what the men said to each other?” I asked.
“Not when they spoke low,” she replied, “only when they raised their voices, and I wasn’t awake all the time. Somebody was playing on the piano, now and then—playing softly—and between whiles there was talk going on. One said, ‘You won’t, won’t you?’ And the other said, ‘No—not if I die for it!’ Then there was the sound of a blow—O, Becky! it made me tremble all over. And then came the scream that Mrs. Preedy heard. And almost directly afterwards, the piano played that loud that I believe you could have heard it in the next street. The music went on for a long time, and then everything was quiet. That was all.”
“Did neither of the men speak after that?” I asked.
“No, or if they did, it was so low that it didn’t reach me.”
My dear, to hear this woman, who is very, very old, and quite close to death’s door, relate the dreadful story, with scarcely a trace of feeling in her voice, and with certainly no compassion, would have shocked you—as it did me; but I suppressed my emotion.
There is something of still greater importance to be told before I bring the story of my adventure to the present day. I am on the track of a mystery which appears to me to be in some strange way connected with the crime. Heaven only knows where it will lead me, but I shall follow it up without flinching, whatever the consequences may be.
A week after I entered Mrs. Preedy’s service she said to me;
“Becky, we’ve got another lodger.”
“Goodness be praised,” I cried. “The sight of so many empty rooms in the house is dreadful. And such a loss to you!”