In Queer Street

by Fergus Hume

So far the young man could see no cause for alarm, but an hour's reflection made him resolve to make things doubly sure against discovery. Thanks to the twilight and the dimly-lighted tap-room, Hench made sure that any description given of his appearance would be more or less vague, and was not likely to be recognized by any one in the hotel when it appeared in the newspapers. Nevertheless, so as to place the matter beyond all doubt, he paid his bill, packed his luggage and took his departure late in the afternoon for Victoria Station. Here he left his box and portmanteau in the cloak-room, and went down to South Kensington in search of quiet lodgings. But before venturing to inquire for the same, Owain sought out a barber's shop in Brampton Road and had his heavy brown beard removed. He would rather have shaved himself, so as to do away with the possibility of the barber noticing any description in the newspapers, even though the same was vague and inaccurate. But to do this was impossible. He could not change his appearance before leaving the Bloomsbury Hotel without exciting remark, and he did not wish to present himself at his new lodgings in any degree like his old self, as it was known to the paying guests of Mrs. Tesk's establishment. Therefore he was obliged to risk a barber's razor and a barber's curiosity.

One thing was certain, that when he emerged from the shop, no one would have recognized him for the man who had entered. The removal of his beard altered him wonderfully, making him look years younger, and improving his good looks in a marked degree. Owain sat in the barber's chair a bearded colonist of the type dear to penny fiction, he rose from it looking like the Hermes of the Vatican. Even the hairdresser exclaimed at the extraordinary transformation and complimented him on his improved appearance. Hench was rather annoyed that the man should take so much notice, and paying him hurriedly, departed as swiftly as he could without exciting suspicion. Then he walked down the Brompton Road and sought out a quiet side street in South Kensington, where he knew there were rooms to be let. The place was already known to him, during the last six months, as under the same roof lived an old school-friend, with whom Hench had kept up a correspondence. On returning to England he had looked up this friend, and they had renewed their acquaintanceship with uncommon fervour. Therefore Owain deemed it best to live near him, so that he might make use of him should any trouble ensue from his adventure. It may be remarked that the friend was a barrister, and as such--so Hench considered--would be able to attend to legal details if necessary.

The rooms in question were still to be had, as a voluble landlady assured Mr. Hench, so he engaged them for a month, paying the rent in advance. Then he left a message for his friend, and returned to get his luggage from the cloak-room in Victoria Station. By seven o'clock, Owain was installed in a tolerably comfortable bedroom and sitting-room, and was dawdling over a hurriedly provided meal. His friend, he was informed, was not expected back until nine o'clock, so Hench passed the time in reading the evening papers. These he had bought at the railway station when getting his luggage, and in two of them he found what he sought.

The account of the Parley Wood crime was necessarily meagre, as so short a time had elapsed since the discovery of the body that the police were not in possession of much information. It appeared, from the scanty details, that the dead man was--as Hench suspected--Squire Madoc Evans, the Lord of the Manor and the owner of Cookley Grange. He had gone for a stroll in the woods shortly after dinner, and not having returned, search had been made, with the result that the poor old gentleman was found stabbed to the heart near the Gipsy Stile. The weapon used to execute the murder was a common carving-knife with a horn handle, and the medical examination showed that Evans had met with his violent death about half-past seven. The account ended with the information that the police were making all inquiries in the hope of tracing the criminal, but as yet had been unsuccessful.

Owain breathed more freely, as there was no word of the girl at the Bull Inn or of her conversation with himself. Still, it was early days yet, and the young man felt very sure that shortly she would speak out. An account of the man who had inquired where the Gipsy Stile was to be found would assuredly appear in print; then it would depend entirely upon the memory and acuteness of the girl whether he would be traced. And, of course, if Madame Alpenny became suspicious--and Owain was positive that she would become so--her story to the police would certainly result in his arrest. Then, when confronted with the girl of the inn, there would be small chance of denying his identity with the tramp who had made those fatal inquiries. Hench felt extremely uncomfortable in spite of his innocence, and longed to have some one to whom he could talk freely. Later on in the evening, and while gloomily smoking in an armchair, the young man thought that he could trust his old school-friend. James Vane was quite a different man to Spruce, who also had been at the same school, and was as true as the Nut was false. After much reflection and some hesitation, Hench decided to unbosom himself to the barrister, since the dangers which environed him were so great that he could not deal with them unaided.

At nine o'clock precisely, a sharp knock came to the door of the sitting-room, and Hench sprang up to greet his visitor. Vane was a tall, slim man, with a lean, hatchet face, keen dark eyes, and thin dark hair, touched already with grey although he was only thirty years of age. He was perfectly dressed and perfectly well-groomed, quick in his movements and a trifle saturnine in his manner. Some people were rather afraid of him, as he was always cold and cautious. But Owain knew that this frigid exterior concealed a truly warm heart, and that--as the saying goes--Vane's bark was worse than his bite. To his old school-chum he showed himself as he really was, and few would have recognized the chilly barrister in the smiling friend. It was as though ice had melted on a mountain-top to reveal a green sward.

"Well, I am glad to see you again, Owain," said Vane, after shaking hands warmly; "it is quite six months since I set eyes on you. Where have you been all this time? What have you been doing with yourself? And where is that patriarchal beard which made you look like Abraham? H'm! You're in love."

Hench stared and made his friend comfortable in an armchair. "What on earth makes you say that?" he inquired with a puzzled look.

"No girl could possibly love a man with a beard which made him look one hundred and ten years old. You have met with a girl--with the girl--and are in love. Therefore have you shaved your chin, reduced your age, and made yourself look like a young Greek god."

"I don't feel like a Greek god, Jim," said Hench, taking a seat and glancing round to see that windows and doors were closed. "I'm worried."