The Beetle (41 page)

Shorthand notes were taken of some of the utterances of his
delirium. Afterwards they were submitted to me. I remembered the
substance of them quite well, and when Mr Lessingham began to tell
me of his own hideous experiences they came back to me more
clearly still. Had I laid those notes before him I have little
doubt but that he would have immediately perceived that seventeen
years after the adventure which had left such an indelible scar
upon his own life, this youth—he was little more than a boy—had
seen the things which he had seen, and suffered the nameless
agonies and degradations which he had suffered. The young man was
perpetually raving about some indescribable den of horror which
was own brother to Lessingham's temple and about some female
monster, whom he regarded with such fear and horror that every
allusion he made to her was followed by a convulsive paroxysm
which taxed all the ingenuity of his medical attendants to bring
him out of. He frequently called upon his sisters by name,
speaking of them in a manner which inevitably suggested that he
had been an unwilling and helpless witness of hideous tortures
which they had undergone; and then he would rise in bed,
screaming, 'They're burning them! they're burning them! Devils!
devils!' And at those times it required all the strength of those
who were in attendance to restrain his maddened frenzy.

The youth died in one of these fits of great preternatural
excitement, without, as I have previously written, having given
utterance to one single coherent word, and by some of those who
were best able to judge it was held to have been a mercy that he
did die without having been restored to consciousness. And,
presently, tales began to be whispered, about some idolatrous
sect, which was stated to have its headquarters somewhere in the
interior of the country—some located it in this neighbourhood,
and some in that—which was stated to still practise, and to
always have practised, in unbroken historical continuity, the
debased, unclean, mystic, and bloody rites, of a form of idolatry
which had had its birth in a period of the world's story which was
so remote, that to all intents and purposes it might be described
as pre-historic.

While the ferment was still at its height, a man came to the
British Embassy who said that he was a member of a tribe which had
its habitat on the banks of the White Nile. He asserted that he
was in association with this very idolatrous sect,—though he
denied that he was one of the actual sectaries. He did admit,
however, that he had assisted more than once at their orgies, and
declared that it was their constant practice to offer young women
as sacrifices—preferably white Christian women, with a special
preference, if they could get them, to young English women. He
vowed that he himself had seen with his own eyes, English girls
burnt alive. The description which he gave of what preceded and
followed these foul murders appalled those who listened. He
finally wound up by offering, on payment of a stipulated sum of
money, to guide a troop of soldiers to this den of demons, so that
they should arrive there at a moment when it was filled with
worshippers, who were preparing to participate in an orgie which
was to take place during the next few days.

His offer was conditionally accepted. He was confined in an
apartment with one man on guard inside and another on guard
outside the room. That night the sentinel without was startled by
hearing a great noise and frightful screams issuing from the
chamber in which the native was interned. He summoned assistance.
The door was opened. The soldier on guard within was stark,
staring mad,—he died within a few months, a gibbering maniac to
the end. The native was dead. The window, which was a very small
one, was securely fastened inside and strongly barred without.
There was nothing to show by what means entry had been gained. Yet
it was the general opinion of those who saw the corpse that the
man had been destroyed by some wild beast. A photograph was taken
of the body after death, a copy of which is still in my
possession. In it are distinctly shown lacerations about the neck
and the lower portion of the abdomen, as if they had been produced
by the claws of some huge and ferocious animal. The skull is
splintered in half-a-dozen places, and the face is torn to rags.

That was more than three years ago. The whole business has
remained as great a mystery as ever. But my attention has once or
twice been caught by trifling incidents, which have caused me to
more than suspect that the wild tale told by that murdered native
had in it at least the elements of truth; and which have even led
me to wonder if the trade in kidnapping was not being carried on
to this very hour, and if women of my own flesh and blood were not
still being offered up on that infernal altar. And now, here was
Paul Lessingham, a man of world-wide reputation, of great
intellect, of undoubted honour, who had come to me with a wholly
unconscious verification of all my worst suspicions!

That the creature spoken of as an Arab,—and who was probably no
more an Arab than I was, and whose name was certainly not Mohamed
el Kheir!—was an emissary from that den of demons, I had no
doubt. What was the exact purport of the creature's presence in
England was another question, Possibly part of the intention was
the destruction of Paul Lessingham, body, soul and spirit;
possibly another part was the procuration of fresh victims for
that long-drawn-out holocaust. That this latter object explained
the disappearance of Miss Lindon I felt persuaded. That she was
designed by the personification of evil who was her captor, to
suffer all the horrors at which the stories pointed, and then to
be burned alive, amidst the triumphant yells of the attendant
demons, I was certain. That the wretch, aware that the pursuit was
in full cry, was tearing, twisting, doubling, and would stick at
nothing which would facilitate the smuggling of the victim out of
England, was clear.

My interest in the quest was already far other than a merely
professional one. The blood in my veins tingled at the thought of
such a woman as Miss Lindon being in the power of such a monster.
I may assuredly claim that throughout the whole business I was
urged forward by no thought of fee or of reward. To have had a
share in rescuing that unfortunate girl, and in the destruction of
her noxious persecutor, would have been reward enough for me.

One is not always, even in strictly professional matters,
influenced by strictly professional instincts.

The cab slowed. A voice descended through the trap door.

'This is Commercial Road, sir,—what part of it do you want?'

'Drive me to Limehouse Police Station.'

We were driven there. I made my way to the usual inspector behind
the usual pigeon-hole.

'My name is Champnell. Have you received any communication from
Scotland Yard to-night having reference to a matter in which I am
interested?'

'Do you mean about the Arab? We received a telephonic message
about half an hour ago.'

'Since communicating with Scotland Yard this has come to hand from
the authorities at Vauxhall Station. Can you tell me if anything
has been seen of the person in question by the men of your
division?'

I handed the Inspector the 'report.' His reply was laconic.

'I will inquire.'

He passed through a door into an inner room and the 'report' went
with him.

'Beg pardon, sir, but was that a Harab you was a-talking about to
the Hinspector?'

The speaker was a gentleman unmistakably of the gutter-snipe
class. He was seated on a form. Close at hand hovered a policeman
whose special duty it seemed to be to keep an eye upon his
movements.

'Why do you ask?'

'I beg your pardon, sir, but I saw a Harab myself about a hour
ago,—leastways he looked like as if he was a Harab.'

'What sort of a looking person was he?'

'I can't 'ardly tell you that, sir, because I didn't never have a
proper look at him,—but I know he had a bloomin' great bundle on
'is 'ead. ... It was like this, 'ere. I was comin' round the
corner, as he was passin', I never see 'im till I was right atop
of 'im, so that I haccidentally run agin 'im,—my heye! didn't 'e
give me a downer! I was down on the back of my 'ead in the middle
of the road before I knew where I was and 'e was at the other end
of the street. If 'e 'adn't knocked me more'n 'arf silly I'd been
after 'im, sharp,—I tell you! and hasked 'im what 'e thought 'e
was a-doin' of, but afore my senses was back agin 'e was out o'
sight,—clean!'

'You are sure he had a bundle on his head?'

'I noticed it most particular.'

'How long ago do you say this was? and where?'

'About a hour ago,—perhaps more, perhaps less.'

'Was he alone?'

'It seemed to me as if a cove was a follerin' 'im, leastways there
was a bloke as was a-keepin' close at 'is 'eels,—though I don't
know what 'is little game was, I'm sure. Ask the pleesman—he
knows, he knows everything the pleesman do.'

I turned to the 'pleesman.'

'Who is this man?'

The 'pleesman' put his hands behind his back, and threw out his
chest. His manner was distinctly affable.

'Well,—he's being detained upon suspicion. He's given us an
address at which to make inquiries, and inquiries are being made.
I shouldn't pay too much attention to what he says if I were you.
I don't suppose he'd be particular about a lie or two.'

This frank expression of opinion re-aroused the indignation of the
gentleman on the form.

'There you hare! at it again! That's just like you peelers,—
you're all the same! What do you know about me?—Nuffink! This
gen'leman ain't got no call to believe me, not as I knows on,—
it's all the same to me if 'e do or don't, but it's trewth what
I'm sayin', all the same.'

At this point the Inspector re-appeared at the pigeon-hole. He cut
short the flow of eloquence.

'Now then, not so much noise outside there!' He addressed me.
'None of our men have seen anything of the person you're inquiring
for, so far as we're aware. But, if you like, I will place a man
at your disposal, and he will go round with you, and you will be
able to make your own inquiries.'

A capless, wildly excited young ragamuffin came dashing in at the
street door. He gasped out, as clearly as he could for the speed
which he had made:

'There's been murder done, Mr Pleesman,—a Harab's killed a
bloke.'

'Mr Pleesman' gripped him by the shoulder.

'What's that?'

The youngster put up his arm, and ducked his head, instinctively,
as if to ward off a blow.

'Leave me alone! I don't want none of your 'andling!—I ain't done
nuffink to you! I tell you 'e 'as!'

The Inspector spoke through the pigeon-hole.

'He has what, my lad? What do you say has happened?'

'There's been murder done—it's right enough!—there 'as!—up at
Mrs 'Enderson's, in Paradise Place,—a Harab's been and killed a
bloke!'

The Inspector spoke to me.

'If what the boy says is correct it sounds as if the person whom
you are seeking may have had a finger in the pie.'

I was of the same opinion, as, apparently, were Lessingham and
Sidney. Atherton collared the youth by the shoulder which Mr
Pleesman had left disengaged.

'What sort of looking bloke is it who's been murdered?'

'I dunno! I 'aven't seen 'im! Mrs 'Enderson, she says to me!
"'Gustus Barley," she says, "a bloke's been murdered. That there
Harab what I chucked out 'alf a hour ago been and murdered 'im,
and left 'im behind up in my back room. You run as 'ard as you can
tear and tell them there dratted pleese what's so fond of shovin'
their dirty noses into respectable people's 'ouses." So I comes
and tells yer. That's all I knows about it.'

We went four in the hansom which had been waiting in the street to
Mrs Henderson's in Paradise Place,—the Inspector and we three.
'Mr Pleesman' and "Gustus Barley' followed on foot. The Inspector
was explanatory.

'Mrs Henderson keeps a sort of lodging-house,—a "Sailors' Home"
she calls it, but no one could call it sweet. It doesn't bear the
best of characters, and if you asked me what I thought of it, I
should say in plain English that it was a disorderly house.'

Paradise Place proved to be within three or four hundred yards of
the Station House. So far as could be seen in the dark it
consisted of a row of houses of considerable dimensions,—and also
of considerable antiquity. They opened on to two or three stone
steps which led directly into the street. At one of the doors
stood an old lady with a shawl drawn over her head. This was Mrs
Henderson. She greeted us with garrulous volubility.

'So you 'ave come, 'ave you? I thought you never was a-comin' that
I did.' She recognised the Inspector. 'It's you, Mr Phillips, is
it?' Perceiving us, she drew a little back 'Who's them 'ere
parties? They ain't coppers?'

Mr Phillips dismissed her inquiry, curtly.

'Never you mind who they are. What's this about someone being
murdered.'

'Ssh!' The old lady glanced round. 'Don't you speak so loud, Mr
Phillips. No one don't know nothing about it as yet. The parties
what's in my 'ouse is most respectable,—most! and they couldn't
abide the notion of there being police about the place.'

'We quite believe that, Mrs Henderson.'

The Inspector's tone was grim.

Mrs Henderson led the way up a staircase which would have been
distinctly the better for repairs. It was necessary to pick one's
way as one went, and as the light was defective stumbles were not
infrequent.

Our guide paused outside a door on the topmost landing. From some
mysterious recess in her apparel she produced a key.

'It's in 'ere. I locked the door so that nothing mightn't be
disturbed. I knows 'ow particular you pleesmen is.'