"And now," I said to myself, when she had gone, "now for my vigil in the garden. In my dream picture only a night ago, I saw myself lying on my back, the man I am seeking kneeling over me, knife in hand. The place where this happened I could not see. But to-night, in another dream picture, I saw the same man crouched low to steal by dead of night through a garden. I wonder whether that garden and the place of my first dream are one and the same? I wonder whether it was good fortune or an evil fate which guided my feet to the opium den yesterday, and brought me and that same man to this house to-night? I wonder whether he or I have met and striven in this or in some pre-existent world? I wonder why it is that only when looking in his eyes do I see these pictures which come and go so strangely in my brain? But most of all, I wonder whether I might venture to ring the bell, and ask the gentle Metcalfe to bring me a drink. All this 'wondering' and this 'whethering' makes me feel not only uncommonly dry, but also more like the hero who never was on sea or land except in the pages of a shilling shocker, or in a melodramatic play, than like an ordinary, everyday young man who fancies that a pipeful of tobacco taken in conjunction with liquid refreshment in the shape of a stiff 'whisky,' would suit his complaint down to the ground. Anyhow, I'll try. Then for the garden, for my dream picture, and possibly for our friend and enemy, the Dumpling!"
CHAPTER XVI.
THE GHOST IN THE GARDEN.
The place selected in which to keep my watch had, I imagine, been intended by the builder for a coal-cellar; but from the fact that the walls of thick cement were set around with shelves, partitioned into squares, I concluded that some subsequent tenant had seen fit to turn it into a wine-cellar. One entered from the garden, and passing down a few stone steps, came to a wooden door like that of a coal-cellar or tool-house, opening upon a short passage, the walls of which were evenly cemented. At the end of this passage another door—of iron this time, and fitted with a patent lock—had been added; and, as it did not seem likely that anyone would trouble to protect garden tools or coals by the addition of an extra door, such as one sees in a strong room or on a safe, the presumption was, as I say, that the place had been intended for the storage or the laying down of wine. But whatever its purpose, it made a serviceable sentry-box, for by leaving the two doors open I could command a view of the garden. Seeing by the light of a vesta, which I struck on entering, that a naked gas-jet was fixed to the wall, and finding that the gas was laid on, I lit it for a moment or two while I had time to look round. Had I chosen to keep the inner door shut, I could have left the light burning all night, and with no fear of its gleam being seen from outside. But in that case I could not have kept the necessary eye upon the garden; so, after I had turned an empty champagne case into a somewhat uneasy and uncomfortable seat, I put out the light, and, opening both doors wide, sat down to commence my watch.
One!
Two!
Three!
"Three o'clock and a wet night!" I said to myself, yawning wearily. "The policeman, whom I've just heard pass, isn't likely to get wet feet, judging by the thickness of the boots he's wearing. I wonder how he manages to walk like that? One might think he did it purposely, to warn the gentle burglar to lie low while law-and-order is passing. First of all comes his heel with a flick, and then the flat of his foot with a flack, like the double beat of a flail. Flick-flack, flick-flack, flick-flack!
"But perhaps I'm blaming the poor man without a cause. It may be that it is only because we hear the policeman's tramp, sounding and echoing on an empty pavement, that we think it peculiar; and possibly my own footfalls could as readily be recognised were they heard at night, when other sounds are still.