Witness to the Deed

by George Manville Fenn

A fierce look of anger came into his countenance as he stood glaring in the direction of the summons. Then, raising the glass again, he was about to drink when there was a louder knocking.

Stratton hesitated, set down the glass, crossed the room, and threw open the doors, first one and then the other, with the impression upon him that by some means his intentions had been divined and that it was the police.

“Having a nap, old fellow?” cried Guest hurriedly, as he stepped in, Stratton involuntarily giving way. “I was crossing the inn and saw your light. Thought I’d drop in for a few moments before going to my perch.”

He did not say that he had been pacing the inn and its precincts for hours, longing to hear the result of his friend’s visit to Bourne Square, but unable to make up his mind to go up till the last, when, in a fit of desperation, he had mounted the stairs.

“I will not quarrel with him if he is the winner. One was obliged to go down. I can’t afford to lose lover and friend in one day, even if it does make one sore.”

He had taken that sentence and said it in a hundred different ways that evening, and it was upon his lips as he had at last knocked at Stratton’s door.

Upon his first entrance he had not noticed anything particular in his friend, being in a feverish, excited state, full of his own disappointment; but as Stratton remained silent, gazing hard at him, he looked in his face wonderingly; and as, by the half light, he made out his haggard countenance and the wild, staring look in his eyes, a rush of hope sent the blood bubbling, as it were, through his veins. “Has she refused him?” rang in his ears, and, speechless for the moment, with his heart throbbing wildly, and his throat hot and dry, he took a step forward as he saw carafe and water glass before him, caught up the latter, and raised it to his lips.

But only to start back in wonder and alarm, for, with a hoarse cry, Stratton struck the glass from his hand, scattered its contents over the hearthrug, and the glass itself flew into fragments against the bars of the grate.

“Here, what’s the matter with you, old fellow?” cried Guest wonderingly. “Don’t act like that.”

Stratton babbled a few incoherent words, and sank back in the lounge, covering his face with his hands, and a hoarse hysterical cry escaped from his lips.