The Beetle Richard Marsh (most romantic novels TXT) 📖

the station as fast as you can and tell ’em that a man’s been murdered⁠—that Harab’s been and killed a bloke.’ And that’s all I know about it, and I couldn’t tell you no more, Mr. Phillips, not if you was to keep on asking me questions not for hours and hours.”

“Then you think it was this man”⁠—with a motion towards the bed⁠—“who was shrieking?”

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Phillips, about that I don’t ’ardly know what to think. If you ’ad asked me I should ’ave said it was a woman. I ought to know a woman’s holler when I ’ear it, if anyone does, I’ve ’eard enough of ’em in my time, goodness knows. And I should ’ave said that only a woman could ’ave hollered like that and only ’er when she was raving mad. But there weren’t no woman with him. There was only this man what’s murdered, and the other man⁠—and as for the other man I will say this, that ’e ’adn’t got twopennyworth of clothes to cover ’im. But, Mr. Phillips, howsomever that may be, that’s the last Harab I’ll ’ave under my roof, no matter what they pays, and you may mark my words I’ll ’ave no more.”

Mrs. Henderson, once more glancing upward, as if she imagined herself to have made some declaration of a religious nature, shook her head with much solemnity.

XLVI The Sudden Stopping

As we were leaving the house a constable gave the Inspector a note. Having read it he passed it to me. It was from the local office.

“Message received that an Arab with a big bundle on his head has been noticed loitering about the neighbourhood of St. Pancras Station. He seemed to be accompanied by a young man who had the appearance of a tramp. Young man seemed ill. They appeared to be waiting for a train, probably to the North. Shall I advise detention?”

I scribbled on the flyleaf of the note.

“Have them detained. If they have gone by train have a special in readiness.”

In a minute we were again in the cab. I endeavoured to persuade Lessingham and Atherton to allow me to conduct the pursuit alone⁠—in vain. I had no fear of Atherton’s succumbing, but I was afraid for Lessingham. What was more almost than the expectation of his collapse was the fact that his looks and manner, his whole bearing, so eloquent of the agony and agitation of his mind, was beginning to tell upon my nerves. A catastrophe of some sort I foresaw. Of the curtain’s fall upon one tragedy we had just been witnesses. That there was worse⁠—much worse, to follow I did not doubt. Optimistic anticipations were out of the question⁠—that the creature we were chasing would relinquish the prey uninjured, no one, after what we had seen and heard, could by any possibility suppose. Should a necessity suddenly arise for prompt and immediate action, that Lessingham would prove a hindrance rather than a help I felt persuaded.

But since moments were precious, and Lessingham was not to be persuaded to allow the matter to proceed without him, all that remained was to make the best of his presence.

The great arch of St. Pancras was in darkness. An occasional light seemed to make the darkness still more visible. The station seemed deserted. I thought, at first, that there was not a soul about the place, that our errand was in vain, that the only thing for us to do was to drive to the police station and to pursue our inquiries there. But as we turned towards the booking-office, our footsteps ringing out clearly through the silence and the night, a door opened, a light shone out from the room within, and a voice inquired:

“Who’s that?”

“My name’s Champnell. Has a message been received from me from the Limehouse Police Station?”

“Step this way.”

We stepped that way⁠—into a snug enough office, of which one of the railway inspectors was apparently in charge. He was a big man, with a fair beard. He looked me up and down, as if doubtfully. Lessingham he recognised at once. He took off his cap to him.

“Mr. Lessingham, I believe?”

“I am Mr. Lessingham. Have you any news for me?”

I fancy, by his looks⁠—that the official was struck by the pallor of the speaker’s face⁠—and by his tremulous voice.

“I am instructed to give certain information to a Mr. Augustus Champnell.”

“I am Mr. Champnell. What’s your information?”

“With reference to the Arab about whom you have been making inquiries. A foreigner, dressed like an Arab, with a great bundle on his head, took two single thirds for Hull by the midnight express.”

“Was he alone?”

“It is believed that he was accompanied by a young man of very disreputable appearance. They were not together at the booking-office, but they had been seen together previously. A minute or so after the Arab had entered the train this young man got into the same compartment⁠—they were in the front wagon.”

“Why were they not detained?”

“We had no authority to detain them, nor any reason, until your message was received a few minutes ago we at this station were not aware that inquiries were being made for them.”

“You say he booked to Hull⁠—does the train run through to Hull?”

“No⁠—it doesn’t go to Hull at all. Part of it’s the Liverpool and Manchester Express, and part of it’s for Carlisle. It divides at Derby. The man you’re looking for will change either at Sheffield or at Cudworth Junction and go on to Hull by the first train in the morning. There’s a local service.”

I looked at my watch.

“You say the train left at midnight. It’s now nearly five-and-twenty past. Where’s it now?”

“Nearing St. Albans, it’s due there 12:35.”

“Would there be time for a wire to reach St. Albans?”

“Hardly⁠—and anyhow there’ll only be enough railway officials about the place to receive and despatch the train. They’ll be fully occupied with their ordinary duties. There won’t be time to get the police there.”

“You could wire to St. Albans to inquire if they were still in the train?”

“That could be