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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
 "A shake-down on the floor. Our mutual good friend Mrs. Lemon
shall bring up a mattress, a pillow, a sheet, and a pair of blankets,
and you shall lie snug and warm. I do not offer you my own bed, for
I know that, having the instincts of a gentleman, you would not
accept it, but I offer you the hospitality of my poor apartment. We
will sup together, we will sleep together, in the morning we will
breakfast together, and we will go out to business together, you
taking the position of poor Lemon, whom, from this moment, I cast
off for ever. What say you?"

I debated with myself. It was important that I should not lose

sight of Devlin; left to my own resources, I should not know how to
proceed; I depended entirely upon him to supply me with a clue. But
what could be his reason for proposing that we should go out to
business together? Of what use could I be in a barber's shop, and
how would my presence there assist me? As, however, he appeared
to be dealing frankly and honestly, my best course perhaps would be
to do the same. Therefore I put the questions which perplexed me in
plain language.

"My dear sir," he replied, "in my place of business, and in no other

place, shall we be able to find a starting-point. Do not entail upon
me the necessity of saying 'upon my truth and honour' to everything
I advance. Have confidence in me, and you will be a thousand
pounds the richer, probably two, if the gentleman who made you the
offer keeps his word."

I hesitated no longer. I would act frankly and boldly, and for the
next twenty-four hours at least would be guided by him.

"I accept your hospitality," I said, "and will do as you wish."

"Good," he said, rubbing his hands; "we may regard the campaign
as opened. Woe to the murderer! Justice shall overtake him; he shall
hang!" He uttered these words in a tone of malignant satisfaction,
and as though the prospect of any man being hanged was
thoroughly agreeable to him. "I will prove to you," he continued,
"how completely you can trust me. You came here to-day with the
intention of returning home and sleeping there. Your absence will
alarm your wife. You must write to her."

He placed notepaper and envelopes before me, and took from the
mantelshelf a penny stone bottle of ink, then pointed to the pen
which formed part of the cross upon the table.

I wrote a line to my wife, informing her that events of great

importance had occurred in relation to the murder of Lizzie
Melladew, and that, for the purpose of following up the threads of a
possible discovery, I intended to sleep out to-night; I desired her in
my letter to go and see Mr. Portland and tell him that I was engaged
in the task he had intrusted to me, and believed I should soon be in
possession of a clue. "Have no anxiety for me," I said; "I am quite
safe, and no harm will befall me. The prospect of unravelling this
dreadful mystery fills me with joy." She would know what I meant by
this; the murderer discovered, we should be comparatively rich. I
fastened and addressed my letter.

"It should reach her hands to-night," said Devlin. "How will you
send it?"

I stepped to the window, and, looking out, distinguished the

figures of George Carton and Mr. Kenneth Dowsett, Mr. Dowsett
seemed to be endeavouring, unavailingly, to persuade his ward to
come away with him. I could employ no better messenger than
George Carton; he should take my letter to my wife. Returning to
the centre of the room, my eyes fell upon Devlin's desk. Devlin
smiled and nodded; he knew what was passing in my mind.

"I shall send my letter," I said, "by the hands of George Carton,
who is still in the square, and I shall send your desk with it."

"Do so," said Devlin.

 I opened the envelope, and tearing it into very small pieces flung
them out of window. Devlin smiled again.

"So that I should not discover your address," he said.

"That is it," I replied.

"It is likely," he said, "to be not very far from Mr. Melladew,
because you and he are friends."

I added a few words to my letter, desiring my wife to put the desk

in a place of safety; and then, addressing another envelope, I went
down-stairs, bearing both desk and letter.

"I shall be here when you come back," said Devlin. "Even were I
protean, I shall not change my shape. My word is given."

On my way to the street-door I encountered Fanny Lemon.

"Well, sir?" she asked anxiously.

"I will speak to you presently," I said, and, opening the street-
door, crossed the road to where George Carton and his guardian
were standing.

CHAPTER XXII.

I SEND DEVLIN'S DESK TO MY WIFE, AND SMOKE A FRAGRANT CIGAR.

 "This foolish, headstrong lad will be the death of me," said Mr.
Dowsett in a fretful tone, "and of himself as well."

"I am neither foolish nor headstrong," retorted the unhappy

young man. "I told you he was in there still, and you told me he had
left the house."

"I said it for your good," said Mr. Dowsett, "but you will not be
ruled."

"No, I will not!" exclaimed George Carton violently; and then said
remorsefully, "I beg you to forgive me for speaking so wildly; it is the
height of ingratitude after all your goodness to me. But do you not
see--for God's sake, do you not see--that you are making things
worse instead of better for me by opposing me as you are doing? I
will have my way! I will, whether I am right or wrong!"

"My poor boy," said Mr. Dowsett, addressing me, "has got it into
his foolish head that you can be of some assistance to him. In
heaven's name, how can you be?"

"Mr. Dowsett," I said, and the strange experiences of the last few
hours imported, I felt, a solemnity into my voice, "the ends of justice
are sometimes reached by roads we cannot see. It may be so in this
sad instance."

"There," said George Carton to his guardian, in a tone of

melancholy triumph, "did I not tell you?"

Mr. Dowsett shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and said, "I

declare that if I did not love my ward with a love as sincere and
perfect as any human being ever felt for another, I would wash my
hands of this business altogether."

"But why," said Carton, with much affection, "do you torment
yourself about it at all?"
 "It is you I torment myself about," said Mr. Dowsett, "not the
horrible deed. I love you with a father's love, and I cannot leave you
in the state you are."

George Carton put his arm around his guardian caressingly. "I am
not worth it," he murmured; "I am not worth it; but I cannot act
otherwise than I do. Sir"--to me--"I have lingered here in the hope
that you might have some news to tell me."

"I have nothing I can communicate to you," I said; "but rest

assured that my interest in the discovery of the murderer is scarcely
less than yours. I have taken up the search, and I will not rest while
there is the shadow of a hope left."

"I knew it, I knew it," said George Carton.

"Knowing it, then," I said, "and receiving the assurance from my

lips, will you do me a service, and be guided by my advice?"

"I will, indeed I will," replied Carton.

"It is heartbreaking," said Mr. Dowsett mournfully, turning his

head, "to find a stranger's counsel preferred to mine."

"No, no," cried George Carton, "I declare to you, no! But you
would have me do nothing, and I cannot obey you. I cannot--I
cannot sit idly down, and make no effort in the cause of justice. My
dear Lizzie is dead, and I do not care to live. But I will live for one
thing--revenge!"

"Be calm," I said, taking the young man's fevered hand, "and
listen to me. I wish you to take this letter and desk to my wife, and
deliver them to her with your own hands. Will you do so?"

"Yes."
 "You must not part with them under any pretext or persuasion
until you place them in my wife's possession."

"No one shall touch them till she receives them."

"You must go at once, for she is anxious about me. I intend to

sleep here to-night. And when you have done what I ask you, I beg
you to go home with your guardian, and have a good night's rest."

He looked discontented at this, but Mr. Dowsett said, "Be

persuaded, George, be persuaded!"

"Believe me," I said, speaking very earnestly, "that it will be for

the best."

"Very well, sir. I will do as you desire. But"--turning to Mr.

Dowsett--"no opiates. If sleep comes to me, it shall come naturally."

"I promise you, George," said Mr. Dowsett; "and now let us go.
Thank you, sir, thank you a thousand times, for having prevailed
upon my ward to do what is right. Come, George, come."

He was so anxious to get the young man away that he advanced

a few steps quickly; thus for two or three moments Carton and I
were alone.

"Shall I see you to-morrow, sir," asked Carton.

"In all probability," I replied; "but do not seek me here. I have

your address, and will either call upon or write to you."

"Then I am to remain home all day?"

"Yes. By following my instructions you will be rendering me

practical assistance."

"Very well, sir. I put all my trust in you."

 "Are you coming, George?" cried Mr. Dowsett, looking back.

"Yes, I am ready," said the young man, joining his guardian; and
presently they were both out of sight.

I reëntered the house. Fanny Lemon was still in the passage.

"Fanny," I said, "I cannot keep long with you, as I have business
up-stairs with Mr. Devlin; but I wish to impress upon you not to
speak to a single soul of what has passed between us to-day. Say
nothing to anybody about Mr. Lemon being ill, and, above all, do not
call in a doctor. Doctors are apt to be inquisitive, and it is of the
highest importance that curiosity shall not be aroused in the minds
of the neighbours. There is nothing radically wrong with Lemon; he
has received a fright, and his nerves are shaken, that is all. Tell him
that I have taken his place with Devlin, and that the partnership is at
an end. That will relieve his mind. Keep him quiet, and give him
nothing to drink but milk or barley water. Lower his system, Fanny,
lower his system."

"Don't you think it low enough already, sir?" asked Fanny.

"I do not; he is in a state of dangerous excitement, and

everything must be done to soothe and quiet him. But I have no
more time to waste. You will do as I have told you?"

"Yes, sir, I'll be careful to. But are you sure he don't want a
doctor? Are you sure he won't die?"

"Quite sure; and you can tell him, if you like, that I say it is all
right."

"Is it all right, sir?"

"If it isn't, I'm going to try to make it so. I shall sleep here to-
night, Fanny."
 "And welcome, sir. We haven't a spare bedroom, but I can make
you up a bed on the sofa in the parlour."

"I shall not need it. I am going to sleep in Devlin's room, on the
floor."

She caught my arm with a cry of alarm. "Has he got hold of you,
too, sir? The Lord save us! He's got the lot of us in his claws!"

"Don't be absurd," I said. "I know what I'm about, and Mr. Devlin
will find me a match for him. No more questions; do as you are bid.
If you have a mattress and some bedclothes to spare, bring them up
at once."

"I won't look at him, sir--I won't speak to him! O, how shall I ever
forgive myself--how shall I ever forgive myself?"

She threw her apron (which during my absence she had put on
over her faded black silk dress) over her head, and swayed to and
fro in the passage, moaning and groaning in great distress of mind.

I pulled the apron from her face, and gave her a good shaking by
way of corrective. She ceased her moans.

"I have no patience with you, Fanny," I exclaimed. "In heaven's

name, what do you want to be forgiven for?"

"For dragging you into this horrible business, sir," she said, with a
tendency to relapse, which I immediately checked by another
shaking. "That--that devil up-stairs----"

This time I shook her so soundly that she could not get out
another word for the chattering of her teeth.

"No more, Fanny," I said roughly, "or you will make me angry. I
know what I am about, and if you don't stop instantly and do exactly
as I bid you, I'll leave you and your Lemon to your fate. Do you
hear?"

The threat terrified her into calmness.

"I'll bring up the bed-things, sir," she said, with bated breath.

"And lose no time," I said, as I mounted the stairs.

"I won't, sir."

Devlin was smoking when I joined him, and not smoking a pipe,
but a cigar with a most delicious fragrance.

"Take one," he said, pushing a cigar-case over to me; "you will

find them good. I manufactured them while you were away."

I bore good-humouredly with his banter, and I took a cigar from

the case, but did not immediately light it.

"Sent your letter?" he inquired curtly.

"Yes."

"And my desk?"

"Yes."

"By Lizzie Melladew's sweetheart?"

"Yes."

"Not by the other?"

"No."

"Do they live together?"

 "Yes."

"Do you know where?"

"Yes."

"Capital!" he said, with the air of a man who had been asking
important instead of trivial questions. "There is a knock at the door--
a frightened, feminine knock. Enter, my dear Mrs. Lemon, enter."

Fanny Lemon came in, smothered with a mattress, sheets,

blankets, and pillows, and, without uttering a word, proceeded to
make the bed on the floor.

"You have brought plenty of pillows, Fanny," I remarked.

"I thought you'd like to lay high, sir," she whispered.

Devlin broke out into a loud laugh. "Most people do," he said,
"while they live. When they die they all lie low—all of them, all of
them!"

For a moment I thought that Fanny was going to run away, but a
look from me restrained her, and she finished making the bed.

"Do you wish anything else, sir?" she asked, still in a whisper, and
keeping her back to Devlin.

"Yes, my charming landlady, yes," replied Devlin, "A large pot of

your exquisite tea. Fly!"

"Make it, Fanny, and bring it up," I said.

She flew, and returned with the steaming pot. Surely never was
tea so quickly prepared before. The pot, milk, sugar, and two cups
and saucers were on a tray, which, without raising her eyes, she
placed before me.
 "Here, here," cried Devlin, tapping the table. "Before me, my dear
creature! I am the host on this occasion."

She slid the tray over to him, and he made a motion as if he were
about to place his hand on her.

"If you lay a finger on me," she exclaimed, beating a hasty retreat
from the table, "I'll scream the house down!"

"Leave the room," I said sternly; "and call us at seven in the

morning."

"We shall be here, my dear creature," added Devlin. "You will find
both of us safe and sound, ready to do justice to your excellent
cooking. I have a premonition of a fine appetite for breakfast; cook
me an extra rasher."

I saw in Fanny's eyes a desire to say a word to me alone. Devlin

saw it too.

"Humour her," he said, and quoted a line from a comedy. "What is

the use of a friend if you can't make a stranger of him?"

I followed Fanny into the passage.

"You've quite made up your mind, sir?"

"Quite, Fanny."

"Take this, sir," she said, pushing a hard substance into my hands.
"If anything happens in the night, spring it."

It was a policeman's rattle.

"I don't know where Lemon got it from," she said, "but we've had
it in the house for years."
 "Pshaw, Fanny!" I said, forcing the rattle back into her hands.
"You are too ridiculous!"

Yet when I was once again face to face with Devlin, with the door
locked, I could not help thinking that I was acting a perilous part in
putting myself, as it were, into his power. He might kill me while I
slept. I determined to keep awake, and to lie down in my clothes.

"Have some tea?" he asked.

"Thank you," I replied. The tea would assist me in my resolve not

to sleep.

The teapot being emptied, I lit the cigar Devlin had given me.

"I owe you an explanation," he said, puffing the smoke from his
cigar into a series of circles. "I take it as a fact that Lemon is
suffering from some kind of prophetic vision in connection with the
murder of Lizzie Melladew in Victoria Park on Friday night."

"It is so," I said.

"Part of my explanation lies in the admission that he received that

forewarning from me."

"Then you knew it was done," I cried.

"I did not know it. It passed through the mind of a customer
whose hair I was dressing. I do not call that knowing a thing. I am
something of a thought-reader, my dear sir, and I possess a certain
power, under suitable conditions, of conveying my impressions to
another person. That is the extent of my explanation. Excuse me for
making it so brief."

Never in my life had I smoked a cigar with a fragrance so

exquisite. Not only exquisite, but overpowering. It beguiled my
senses, and had such an effect upon me that the last twenty or
thirty words uttered by Devlin seemed to be spoken at a great
distance from me. This sense of distance affected not only his voice,
but himself and all surrounding things. He and they seemed to
recede into space, as it were, not bounded by the walls of the small
apartment in which we were sitting. I had a dim desire to continue
the conversation, and to press Devlin to be more explicit, but it died
away. Everything floated in a mist around me, and in this state I fell
asleep.
 CHAPTER XXIII.

I PASS A MORNING IN DEVLIN'S PLACE OF BUSINESS.

Devlin was up and dressed when I awoke in the morning. I had

not to go through the trouble of putting on my clothes, as I had not
taken them off on the previous night. It would not have surprised
me to find that I had unconsciously sought repose in the usual way,
or that I had risen in my sleep to undress; nothing, indeed, would
very much have surprised me, so strange had been my dreaming
fancies. Naturally they all turned upon Devlin and the case upon
which I was engaged. I could easily write a chapter upon them, but
I will content myself with briefly describing one of the strangest of
them all.

I was sitting in a chair, opposite a mirror, in which I saw

everything that was passing in the room. Devlin was standing over
me, dressing my hair. Suddenly I saw a sharp surgical instrument in
his hand.

"That is not a razor," I said, "and I don't want to be shaved."

"My dear sir," remarked Devlin, with excessive politeness, "what

you want or what you don't want matters little."

With that he made a straight cut across the top of my head, and
laid bare my brains. I saw them and every little cell in them quite
distinctly.
 "To think," he observed, as he peered into the cavities, "that in
this small compass should abide the passions, the emotions, the
meannesses, the noble aspirations, the sordid desires, the selfish
instincts and the power to resist them, the sense of duty, the
conscious deceits, the lust for power, the grovelling worship, the
filthy qualities of animalism, the secret promptings, and all the
motley mental and moral attributes which make a man! To think that
from this small compass have sprung all that constitutes man's
history--religion, ethics, the rise and fall of nations, music, poetry,
law, and science! How grand, how noble does this man, who
represents humankind, think himself! What works he has executed,
what marvels discovered! But if the truth were known, he is a mere
dabbler, who, out of his conceit, magnifies the smallest of molehills
into the largest of mountains. He can build a bridge, but he cannot
make a flower that shall bloom to-day and die to-morrow. He can
destroy, but he cannot create. In the open page of Nature he makes
the most trivial of discoveries, and he straightway writes himself up
in letters of gold and builds monuments in his honour. The stars
mock him; the mountains of snow look loftily down upon the pigmy;
the gossamer fly which his eyes can scarcely see triumphs over his
highest efforts. But he has invented for himself a supreme shelter for
defeat and decay. Dear me, dear me--I cannot find it!"

"What are you looking for?" I asked. "Be kind enough to leave my
brains alone." For he was industriously probing them with some
sensitive instrument.

"I am looking for your grand invention, your soul. I am

wondrously wise, but I have never yet been able to discover its
precise locality."

After some further search he shut up my head, so to speak, and

my fancies took another direction.

All these vagaries seemed to be tumbling over each other in my

brain as I rose from my bed on the floor.
 "Had a good night?" asked Devlin.

"If being asleep," I replied, "means having a good night, I have

had it. But my head is in a whirl, nevertheless."

"Keep it cool if you can," said Devlin, "for what you have to go
through. You will find water and soap inside."

He pointed to the little closet adjoining his room, and there I

found all that was necessary for my toilet. I had just finished when
Fanny knocked at the door.

"It's all right, Fanny," I cried. "You can get breakfast ready."

"And don't forget," added Devlin, "the extra rasher for me. How is
dear Lemon?"

That she did not reply and was heard beating a hasty retreat
caused a broad grin to spread over Devlin's face.

"I have provided," he said, "for that worthy creature something of

an entertaining, not to say enthralling, nature, which she can dilate
upon to the last hour of her life. And yet she is not grateful."

We went down to breakfast, and there I was afforded an

opportunity of verifying the subtle likeness in Devlin's face to the
portrait of Lemon on the wall, the evil-looking bird in its glass case,
and the stone figure, half monster, half man, on the mantelshelf.

"There is a likeness," said Devlin pleasantly, "between my works

and me, and if you will attribute me with anything human, you can
attribute it to a common human failing. It springs from the vanity
and the weakness of man that he can evolve only that which is
within himself. Nowhere is that vanity and weakness more
conspicuous than in Genesis, in the very first chapter, my dear sir,
where man himself has had the audacity to write that 'God created
man in His own image.' My dear Mrs. Lemon, you have excelled
yourself this morning. This rasher is perfect, and your cooking of
these eggs to the infinitesimal part of a second is a marvel of art."

Fanny did not open her lips to him, and the meal passed on in
silence so far as she was concerned. I made a good breakfast, and
Devlin expressed approval of my appetite.

"It will strengthen you," he said, "for what is before you."

Fanny looked up in alarm, and Devlin laughed. I may mention that

the first thing I did when I came down-stairs was to run to the
nearest newspaper shop and purchase copies of the morning papers.

"Is there anything new concerning the murder?" asked Devlin.

Fanny waited breathlessly for my reply.

"Nothing," I said.

"Have any arrests been made?"

"None."

"Of course," observed Devlin sarcastically, "the police are on the

track of the murderer."

"There is something to that effect in the papers."

"Fudge!" said Devlin.

Breakfast over, Devlin said he would go up to his room for a few

minutes, and bade me be ready when he came down. Alone with
Fanny, she asked me whether I would like to see Lemon, adding that
it would do him "a power of good."

"Is he any better?" I asked.

 "I really think he is," she replied. "What I told him last night about
your taking up the case was a comfort to him--though he ain't easy
in his mind about you. He is afraid that Devlin will get hold of you as
he did of him."

"He will not, Fanny. We shall get along famously together."

She shook her head. I failed to convince her, as I failed to

convince Mr. Lemon, that I should prove a match for their lodger.
Lemon presented a ludicrous picture, sitting up in bed with an old-
fashioned nightcap on.

"Don't go with him, sir," he whispered, "to the Twisted Cow."

"I shall go with him," I said, "wherever he proposes to take me."

I could not help smiling at Lemon's expression of melancholy as I

made this statement. He dared not give utterance to his fears of
what my ultimate destination would be if I continued to keep
company with Devlin. When that strange personage came down I
was ready for him, and we went out together, Fanny looking after us
from the street-door, shaking, I well knew, in her inward soul.

Devlin made himself exceedingly pleasant, and the comments he

passed on the people we met excited my admiration and increased
my wonder. He seemed to be able to read their characters in their
faces, and although I would have liked to combat his views I did not
venture to oppose my judgment to his. What struck me particularly
was that he saw the evil in men, not the good. Not once did he give
man or woman credit for the possession of good qualities. All was
mean, sordid, grasping, and selfish. He told me that we should have
to walk four miles to his place of business.

"I enjoy walking," he said, "and the only riding I care for is on the
top of an omnibus through squalid streets. You get peeps into
garrets and one-room habitations. Gifted with the power of
observation, you can see rare pictures there."
 On our road I stopped at a post-office, and sent a telegram of
three words to my wife: "All is well."

Our course lay in the direction of Westminster. We crossed the

bridge, and turned down a narrow street. Chapel Street. Half-way
down the street Devlin paused, and said,

"Behold our establishment."

It was a poor and common house, and had it not been for a
barber's pole sticking out from the doorway, and a fly-blown
cardboard in the parlour window, on which was written, "Barber and
Hairdresser. All styles. Lowest charges," I should not have supposed
that a trade was carried on therein. As we entered the passage a
woman came forward and handed Devlin a key. He thanked her,
unlocked the parlour door, and we went in.

The fittings in this room, which I saw at a glance was the shop in
which the shaving and hair-dressing were done, were entirely out of
keeping with the poor tenement in which it was situated. The walls
were lined with fine mirrors; there were three luxurious barber's
chairs; the washstands were of marble; and the appliances for
shampooing perfect.

"You would hardly expect it," observed Devlin.

"I would not," I replied.

"It is my idea," he said. "It rivals the West End establishments,

and for skill I would challenge the world, if I were desirous of
courting publicity. Then, the charges. One-sixth those of Truefit. I
shave for a penny, cut for another penny, shampoo for another. But
only those can be attended to who hold my tickets. I was compelled
to adopt this plan, otherwise I should have been overwhelmed with
customers. It enables me to choose them. When I see a likely man,
one who is ripe, and in whom I discern possibilities which commend
themselves to me, I say, 'Oblige me, sir, by accepting this ticket of
admission;' and having given him a taste of my skill, he comes
again. I have quite a connection." He accompanied these last words
with a strange smile.

"What part do you propose to assign to me in the business?" I

asked.

"A part to which you will not object, that of looker-on. Not from
this room, but that"--pointing to the back room. "The panels of the
door, you will observe, are of ground glass. Sitting within there, you
can see all that passes in this room without being yourself seen. If
you will keep quiet, no one will suspect that you are in hiding."

"For the life of me," I said, "I cannot guess what good my sitting
in there will do."

"I do not suppose you can; but learn from me that I do nothing
without a motive. I do not care to be questioned too closely. The
promise I have made to you will be kept if you do not thwart it. You
may see something that will surprise you. I say 'may,' because I
have not the power to entirely rule men's movements. But I think it
almost certain he will pay me a visit this morning."

"He?" I cried. "Who?"

"The man whose thoughts I read on Friday with respect to the girl
who was murdered on that night."

I started. If Devlin spoke the truth, and if the man came to his
shop this morning, I should be in possession of a practical clue
which would lead me to the goal I wished to reach.

"He comes regularly," continued Devlin, "on Mondays,

Wednesdays, and Fridays. This is his day."

"Do you know his name?" I inquired, in great excitement.

 "I did not," replied Devlin, "the last time I saw him. How should I
know it now?"

"Nor where he lives?"

"Nor where he lives."

"I must obey you, I suppose," I said.

"It will be advisable, and you must obey me implicitly. Deviate by

a hair's breadth from what I require of you, and I withdraw my
promise, which now exists in full integrity. Decide."

"I have decided. I will remain in that room."

"There is another point upon which I must insist positively. From

that room you do not stir until I bid you; in that room you do not
speak unless you receive a cue from me. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"On your honour?"

"On my honour."

"Good. Now you can retire. You will find books in there to amuse
you if you get wearied with your watch."

He opened the door for me, and closed it upon me. He had
spoken correctly. Through the ground glass I could see everything in
the shop, and I took his word for it that I could not myself be seen.

Scarcely had a minute passed before a customer entered. Devlin,

who, while he was arguing with me, had taken off his coat, and put
on a linen jacket of spotless white, behaved most decorously. His
manner was deferential without being subservient, respectful
without being familiar. The man was shaved by Devlin, and then his
head was brushed by machinery, which I had forgotten to mention
was fixed in the shop. There was a caressing motion about Devlin's
shapely hands which could not but be agreeable to those who
sought his tonsorial aid, and his conversation, judging from the
expression on his customer's face, must have been amusing and
entertaining. The customer took his departure, and another,
appearing as he went out, was duly attended to. This went on until
eleven o'clock by my watch, and nothing had occurred of especial
interest to me. Devlin was kept pretty busy; but, although his time
was fully employed, the business at such prices could not have been
remunerative, especially when it was considered that the fitting up
of the shop must have cost a pretty sum of money, and that the
profits of the concern had to be divided between two persons, Mr.
Lemon and himself. It was not till past eleven that my attention was
more than ordinarily attracted by Devlin's behaviour, the difference
in which perhaps no one except myself would have particularly
noticed. A man of the middle class entered and took his seat. He
wore a beard and moustache; and although I could not hear what
he said, he spoke in so low a tone, I judged correctly that he
instructed Devlin to shave his face bare. Devlin proceeded to obey
him, and clipped and cut, and finally applied his razor until not a
vestige of hair was left on the man's face. That being done, Devlin
cut this customer's hair close, and then used his brushes; and as his
hands moved about the man's head there was, if I may so describe
it, a feline, insinuating expression in them which aroused my
curiosity. I thought of the singular dream I have described, and it
appeared to me that all the while Devlin was employed over his
customer the brains of the man sitting so quietly in the chair were
figuratively exposed to his view, and that he was reading the
thoughts which stirred therein. When the man was gone there was a
peculiar smile upon Devlin's face, and I observed that he laughed
quietly to himself. There happened to be no one in the shop to claim
Devlin's attention, and I, who was impatiently waiting for some sign
from Devlin pertinent to the secret purpose to which both he and I
were pledged, expected it to be given now; for the circumstance of
the man having been shaved bare--which so altered his appearance
that I should not otherwise have known that the person who entered
the shop was the same person who left it--was to me so suspicious
that in my anxiety and agitation I connected it with the murder of
poor Lizzie Melladew, arguing that the man had effected this
disguise in himself for the purpose of escaping detection. But Devlin
made no sign, and did not even look towards the glass-door. Other
customers coming in, Devlin was busy again. Twelve o'clock--half-
past twelve--one o'clock-and still no indication of anything in
connection with my task. With a feeling of intense disappointment,
and beginning to doubt whether I had not allowed myself to be
duped, I replaced my watch in my pocket, and had scarcely done so
before my heart was beating violently at the appearance of a
gentleman whom I little expected to see in Devlin's shop. This
gentleman was no other than Mr. Kenneth Dowsett, George Carton's
guardian.

CHAPTER XXIV.

MR. KENNETH DOWSETT GIVES ME THE SLIP.

The beating of my heart became normal; I suppose it was the

sudden appearance of a gentleman with whose face I was familiar,
after many hours of suspense, that had caused its pulsations to
become so rapid and violent. There was nothing surprising, after all,
in the presence of Mr. Dowsett in Devlin's shop. His address was in
Westminster, Devlin was an exceptionally fine workman, the
accommodation was luxurious, the charges low. Even I, in my
position in life, would be tempted to deal occasionally with so expert
and perfect a barber as Devlin, at the prices he charged. Then, why
not Mr. Kenneth Dowsett? Besides, he might be of a frugal turn.
 Devlin was not long engaged over him. Mr. Dowsett was shaved;
Mr. Dowsett had his hair brushed by machinery; Mr. Dowsett,
moreover, was very particular as to the arrangement of his hair; and
Devlin, I saw, did his best to please him. But so deft and facile was
Devlin that he did not dally with Mr. Dowsett for longer than five or
six minutes. Mr. Dowsett rose, paid Devlin, exchanged a few smiling
words with him, and taking a final look at himself in the mirrors,
turning himself this way and that, walked out of the shop. Evidently
Mr. Dowsett was a very vain man.

No sooner was he gone than Devlin locked the shop-door from

within, whipped off his linen jacket, and opened the door of the
room in which I was sitting. I came forward in no amiable mood.

"You are wearied with your long enforced rest," said Devlin.

"I am wearied and disgusted," I retorted. "I expected a clue."

"Have you not received it?" asked Devlin, smiling.

"Received it!" I echoed. "How? Where?"

"You have seen my customers, and all that has passed between
me and them."

"Well?"

"Well?" he said, mocking me. "Is there not one among them upon
whom your suspicions are fixed? Is there not one among them who
could, if he chose, supply us with a starting-point? I say 'us,'
because we are comrades."

"Fool, fool, that I was!" I exclaimed, involuntarily raising my hand

to my forehead. "Why did I allow him to escape?"

"Why did you let whom escape you?" asked Devlin, in a bantering
tone.
 "The man whose beard and moustache you shaved off. He must
have a reason, a vital reason, for effecting this disguise in himself.
And I have let him slip through my fingers!"

"He has a vital reason for so disguising himself," said Devlin, "but
it has no connection with the murder of Lizzie Melladew."

"Then what do you mean?" I cried, "by asking me whether I have

not received a clue?"

"Was your attention attracted to no other of my customers than

this man?"

"There was only one who was known to me--Mr. Kenneth

Dowsett."

"Ah!" said Devlin. "Mr. Kenneth Dowsett."

A light seemed to dawn suddenly upon me, but the suggestion

conveyed in Devlin's significant tone so amazed me that I could not
receive it unquestioningly.

"Do you mean to tell me," I cried, "that you suspect Mr. Dowsett
of complicity in this frightful murder?"

"I mean to tell you nothing of my suspicions," replied Devlin. "It is

for you, not for me, to suspect. It is for you, not for me, to draw
conclusions. What I know positively of Mr. Dowsett--with whose
name I was unacquainted until last evening, when you mentioned it
in Lemon's house--I will tell you, if you wish."

"Tell me, then."

"It is short but pregnant. Through Mr. Kenneth Dowsett's mind, as

I shaved him and dressed his hair on Friday last, passed the picture
of a beautiful girl, with golden hair, wearing a bunch of white daisies
in her belt. Through his mind passed a picture of a lake of still water
in Victoria Park. Through his mind passed a vision of blood."

"Are you a devil," I exclaimed, "that you did not step in to prevent
the deed?"

"My dear sir," he said, seizing my arm, which I had involuntarily

raised, and holding it as in a vice, "you are unreasonable. I have
never in my life been in Victoria Park, which, I believe, covers a large
space of ground. Why should I elect to pass an intensely
uncomfortable night, wandering about paths in an unknown place,
to interfere in I know not what? Even were I an interested party, it
would be an act of folly, for such a proceeding would lay me open to
suspicion. A nice task you would allot to me when you tacitly declare
that it should be my mission to prevent the commission of human
crime! Then how was I to gauge the precise value of Mr. Dowsett's
thoughts? He might be a dramatist, inventing a sensational plot for a
popular theatre; he might be an author of exciting fiction. Give over
your absurdities, and school yourself into calmer methods. Unless
you do so, you will have small chance of unravelling this mystery.
And consider, my dear sir," he added, making me a mocking bow, "if
I am a devil, how honoured you should be that I accept you as my
comrade!"

The tone in which he spoke was calm and measured; indeed, it

had not escaped my observation that, whether he was inclined to be
malignant or agreeable, insinuating or threatening, he never raised
his voice above a certain pitch. I inwardly acknowledged the wisdom
of his counsel that I should keep my passion in control, and I
resolved from that moment to follow it.

"You locked the shop-door," I said, "when Mr. Dowsett left you
just now."

"I did," was his response, "thinking it would be your wish that I
should do no more business to-day."
 "Why should you think that?"

"Because of what was passing through Mr. Dowsett's mind."

"I ask you to pardon me for my display of passion. What was Mr.
Dowsett thinking of?"

"Of two very simple matters," said Devlin; "the time of day and an
address. The time was fifteen minutes past three, the address, 28
Athelstan Road."

"Nothing more?" I inquired, much puzzled.

"Nothing more."

I pondered a moment; I could draw no immediate conclusion

from material so bare. I asked Devlin what he could make of it; he
replied, politely, that it was for me, not for him, to make what I
could of it. A suggestion presented itself.

"At fifteen minutes past three," I said, "Mr. Dowsett has an

appointment with some person at 28 Athelstan Road."

"Possibly," said Devlin.

"Have you a 'London Directory'?"

"I have not; nor, I imagine, will you easily find one in this
neighbourhood."

"A simpler plan," I said, "perhaps will be to go to Mr. Dowsett's

house, to which he has most likely returned, and set watch there for
him, keeping ourselves well out of sight. It is now twenty minutes
past one; we can reach his house in ten minutes. He will hardly
leave it for his appointment till two, or a little past. We will follow
him secretly, and ascertain whom he is going to see, and his
purpose. I am determined now to adopt bold measures. Behind this
frightful mystery there is another, which shall be brought to light.
You will accompany me?"

"I am at your orders," said Devlin.

We left the house together, and in the time I specified were within
a few yards of Mr. Dowsett's residence. Aware of the importance of
not attracting attention, I looked about for a means of escaping
observation. Nearly opposite Mr. Dowsett's dwelling was a public-
house, in the first-floor window of which I saw a placard, "Billiards.
Pool." I concluded that it was the window of a billiard-room, and
without hesitation I entered the public-house, followed by Devlin,
and mounted the stairs. The room, as I supposed, contained a
billiard-table; the marker, a very pale and very thin youth, was
practising the spot stroke.

"Billiards, sir?" he asked, as we entered.

"Yes," I said, "we wish to play a private game. How much an

hour?"

"Eighteenpence."

"Here are five shillings," I said, "for a couple of hours. We shall

not want you to mark. Don't let us be disturbed."

The pale thin youth took the money, laid down his cue, and left us
to ourselves. When he was gone I placed a chair at an angle against
the handle of the door, there being no key in the lock, and thus
prevented the entrance of any person without notice. It was the
leisure time of the day, and there was little fear of our being
disturbed. The extra gratuity I had given to the marker would insure
privacy. As I took my station at the window, from which Mr.
Dowsett's house was in full view, Devlin nodded approval of my
proceedings.
 "You are a man of resource," he said. "I perceive that you intend
henceforth to act sensibly."

Minute after minute passed, and there was no sign of any person
leaving or entering Mr. Dowsett's house. Every now and then I
consulted my watch. Two o'clock--a quarter-past two--half-past. I
began to grow impatient, but, to please Devlin, did not exhibit it.
Perfect silence reigned between us; we exchanged not a word.

Time waned, and now I more frequently looked at my watch, the

hands of which were drawing on to three. They reached the hour
and passed it. A quarter-past three.

Perplexed and disappointed, I debated on my next move. I soon

decided what it should be. I had promised Richard Carton that I
would call upon him. I would do so now. If Mr. Dowsett was at
home, all the better.

I made Devlin acquainted with my resolve, and he said,

"Very good; I will go with you."

Removing the chair I had placed against the handle of the door,
we went from the public-house and crossed the road. I knocked at
Mr. Dowsett's door, and a maidservant answered the summons.

"Does Mr. Kenneth Dowsett live here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he at home?"

"No, sir."

"Is Mr. Richard Carton in?"

"Yes, sir."
 "Give him my card, and say I wish to see him."

"Will you please walk this way, sir?" said the maidservant.

She ushered us into the dining-room, where she left us alone

while she went to apprise Richard Carton of my visit. The room was
exceedingly well furnished. Good pictures were on the walls, and
there was a tasteful arrangement of bric-a-brac and bronzes. I had
no time for further observation, the entrance of Richard Carton
claiming my attention.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "you have come. I was beginning to be afraid

you would disappoint me."

"You delivered my letter to my wife?" I asked.

"Yes, and the desk. My guardian wanted to persuade me to leave

it till this morning, but I would not."

"You were quite right."

He looked towards Devlin.

"A friend," I said, waving my hand as a kind of introduction, "who

may be of assistance to us."

"But introduce us plainly," expostulated Devlin.

"Mr. Devlin," I said, "Mr. Richard Carton."

They shook hands, and then Carton inquired whether I had

anything to tell him.

"Nothing tangible," I replied, "but we are on the road."

"Yes," repeated Devlin, "we are on the road."

 "Excuse me for asking," said Carton to Devlin, "but are you a
detective?"

"In a spiritual way," said Devlin.

Carton's mind was too deeply occupied with the one supreme
subject of the murder to ask for an explanation of this enigmatical
reply. He turned towards me.

"Is your guardian in?" I inquired.

"No," said Carton.

What should I say next? It would have been folly to make Richard
Carton a participant in the strange revelations which were directing
my proceedings.

"Can you tell me," I asked, "where Athelstan Road is?"

"It is in Margate," he replied, in a tone of surprise, "and the

number is 28."

It was my turn now to exhibit surprise. "No. 28!" I exclaimed.

"Who lives there?"

"I don't know. Mrs. Dowsett and Letitia went to Margate by an

early train on Saturday morning, before I was awake, and my
guardian has gone there to see them. I should have proposed to go
with him had it not been for my determination not to leave London
till this dreadful mystery was cleared up; and then there was the
promise you made me give you last night, that I should remain here
all the day till you came to see me."

"When did your guardian go to Margate?" I asked.

"He has gone from Victoria," replied Carton, glancing at a marble

clock on the mantelshelf, "by the Granville train. It starts at fifteen
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