"Certainly not. Go on with your story, Nightingale. 'You're wanted up there' says Mrs. Middlemore."
"Yes. 'You're wanted up there,' she says, meaning Mr. Felix's rooms. 'Did Mr. Felix send for me?' I ask. 'He did,' she answers. 'He rings his bell and says, "Go for a policeman." And he'll not be sorry it's you, Mr. Nightingale, because you're a man as can be trusted,' Mrs. Middlemore's precise words. You see, Wigg, me and her ain't exactly strangers. I'm a single man, and I'm mistook if she ain't got a bit of money put by."
"You're a knowing one, Nightingale,' said Constable Wigg, somewhat enviously, and it is not to the credit of human nature to state that there flashed into his mind the base idea of endeavoring to supplant his brother constable in Mrs. Middlemore's good graces. What should hinder him? He was a single man, many years younger than Constable Nightingale, and much better looking. All was fair in love and war. The "bit of money put by" was a temptation from Lucifer.
"That's what brings me round here now and then," continued Constable Nightingale, complacently. "A man might go a good deal further than Mrs. Middlemore, and fare a good deal worse. 'I suppose,' says I to her, 'there's somebody with Mr. Felix as he wants to get rid of, and as won't go?' 'I ain't at liberty to say,' she answers, 'but you're pretty near the mark. Come and see for yourself, and don't forget that Mr. Felix has got a liberal heart, and hates fuss.' Upon that, Wigg, I holds my tongue, because I'm a man as knows how to, and I follows Mrs. Middlemore into the house. I'd been inside before, of course, but never upstairs, always down and Mrs. Middlemore had told me such a lot about Mr. Felix's rooms that I was curious to see them. 'Furnished like a palace,' Mrs. Middlemore used to say; so up the stairs I steps, Mrs. Middlemore showing the way, and I don't mind confessing that before we got to the first landing I put my arm round Mrs. Middlemore's waist--but that's neither here nor there. She stops on the landing, and knocks at the door----"
But here Constable Nightingale was compelled to pause, and to hold on tight to his comrade. The storm quite suddenly reached such a pitch of fury that the men could scarcely keep their feet, and it would have been impossible to hear a word that was spoken. It was not a fitful display of temper; so fierce grew the wind that it blew the street door open with a crash, and as the policemen were leaning against it, the consequence was that they were precipitated into the passage, and fell flat upon their backs. The reason of the door being blown open so readily was probably, as Constable Nightingale afterward remarked, because the man who had recently left the house so hastily had not pulled it tight behind him, but the tempest was raging so furiously that it might well have made light of such an obstacle as an old street door. It was with difficulty the policemen recovered their feet, and the strength of the wind as it rushed through the passage was so great that the idea that they would be safer inside the house than out occurred to both of them at once. To expose themselves to the fury of the elements in the open would undoubtedly have been attended with danger. Instinctively they advanced to the door, and after a struggle succeeded in shutting it. That being accomplished, they stood in the dark passage, mentally debating what they should do next.
"There's something moving," whispered Constable Wigg, trembling. He was not remarkable for courage, and had a horror of darkness.
Constable Nightingale was made of sterner stuff. He promptly pulled out his dark lantern, and cast its circle of light upon the floor; and there, creeping timidly along close to the wall, they saw the miserable half-starved cat which had shaken Constable Wigg's nerves earlier in the night. It had taken advantage of the open street door to obtain the shelter for which it had long been seeking.
"It ain't the first time," said Constable Wigg, in a vicious tone, "that this little beast has given me a turn. Just before you come up it run across me and almost sent my heart into my mouth."
But for a mournful, fear-stricken look in its yellow eyes, the light of the dark lantern seemed to deprive the wretched cat of the power of motion. It remained perfectly still, cowering to the ground. Even when Constable Wigg gave it a spiteful kick it did not move of its own volition, and it was only when the attention of the policeman was no longer directed toward it that it slunk slowly and stealthily away.
Meanwhile the tempest raged more furiously than ever outside. The shrieking wind tore through the streets, carrying devastation in its train, and the air was thick with whirling, blinding snow.