There were tables, too, with gla.s.s tops wherein, I supposed, were curios and bric-a-brac, and before the great fireplace was stretched a tiger-skin, with the paws preserved.

While groping there, however, my hand came into contact with something which I found was a narrow, three-edged knife, so sharp that I cut my finger while feeling it. It had a cross-hilt, and the blade was thin and triangular, tapering to a point. The shape I knew to be Italian, one of those Florentine stilettos used long ago in the Middle Ages, a wound from which was almost certain to be fatal. The Italians have long ago brought the use of the knife to a fine art, and even to-day, murders by stabbing are the most usual occurrences reported in their newspapers.

The blade of this antique weapon was about nine inches long, and the handle velvet-covered and bound with wire, probably either gold or silver. The point was sharp as a needle.

My first impulse was to take possession of it; but, on reflection, I saw that if I did so grave suspicion might possibly fall upon me. I might even be charged with the murder, especially as I had already in my pocket the dead's man stud and pencil-case. This thought caused me to throw down the stiletto, and, continuing my search, I at length found the door which gave egress to the place.

I opened it and stood in the hall to listen. There was no sound. The stillness of the night remained quite unbroken, and I believed myself alone with the dead. By coughing, the echo of my voice showed that the hall and staircase were wide and s.p.a.cious. Then it struck me that I had no stick, without which I feared to walk; but, groping about, I found an umbrella stand, and took therefrom a stout thorn, the handle of which seemed smooth-worn by long usage.

What was my best course? Should I go forth secretly, return home and await the discovery of the terrible affair, which would no doubt be fully reported in those evening newspapers which revel in crime? Or should I go out and inform the first constable I met? The latter, I saw, was my duty, and even though I had no desire to mix myself up in such a mysterious and sensational affair, I resolved to go at once and state all that I heard.

Whether the street door was situated to right or left I knew not, but trying the right first, I found that the door was at the end of the hall. Opening it, I pa.s.sed out, and having closed it again noiselessly went down the five wide steps into the deserted street.

There were iron railings in front of the house, and before the door was a big stone portico. My hands told me both these details.

I turned to the left, and after walking some little distance crossed a road and kept on down a long road which, although it did not appear to be a main thoroughfare, seemed to run straight as an arrow. For fully a quarter of an hour I walked on without meeting a soul. The only noise that broke the quiet was the dismal howl of a dog, and now and then the distant shriek and low roar of trains. Suddenly I found myself in quite a labyrinth of crooked streets, and after several turns emerged into what I presumed to be one of the great arteries of London.

I stood listening. The air was fresh, and it seemed to me that dawn was spreading. Afar I could hear the measured, heavy tread of a police-constable, and hurried in his direction. As I did so I put out my stick and it struck some iron railings. A few minutes later, in hot haste, I overtook the man of heavy tread, and addressing him, said--

"Tell me, please, are you a constable?"

"Well, I believe I am," answered a rough voice, pleasantly withal. "But can't you see?"

"No, unfortunately I can't," I replied. "Where am I?"

"Outside the South Kensington Museum. Where do you want to go?"

"I want you to come with me," I said.

"With you. What's up?"

"I've been present at a terrible tragedy," I blurted forth. "Two people have been murdered."

"Two people?" exclaimed the voice, quickly interested. "Where?"

"In--in a house," I faltered, for not until that instant did the appalling truth occur to me. I had wandered away from the place, and had no idea of its outward appearance, or in what road it was situated!

"Well, double murders don't often take place in the street, sonny.

But--" and the voice hesitated.

"Why, there's blood on your clothes, I see! Tell me all about it.

Where's the house?"

"I confess that I've been foolishly stupid, for I've left it, and I could never find my way back again. I'm blind, you see, and I've no idea of its exterior appearance."

"At any rate you've been near enough to the affair to get yourself in a pretty mess," the rough voice said, somewhat suspiciously. "Surely you have some idea of where the affair took place?"

The situation was certainly the most curious in which any man could be placed, for with only one thought in my mind, namely, to raise the alarm, I had gone forth from the house of mystery and failed to mark it.

This negligence of mine might, I reflected, result in the affair being hushed up for ever. London is a big place in which to search for the scene of a murder upon which my eyes had never gazed, and the details of which I only knew by my sense of touch. How many thousands of houses there were in the West End each with its smoke-blackened portico and little piece of area railing.

"No," I responded to the officer's inquiry. "I was so bent upon giving information that I forgot to place any mark upon the house by which to know it again."

"Well, I've 'eard a good many funny stories while I've been on night-duty in these eighteen years, but your yarn is about the rummest of the lot," he said bluntly.

"I only know that the house is a large one, very well furnished, and has a portico and railings in front--a double house, with hall in the centre, and rooms on either side."

"That don't 'elp us very much, sonny," the voice observed. "What's the good o' running after me with a yarn like this if you can't take me to the spot? To judge from the state of your clothes, though, you've been in some sc.r.a.p or another. If your coat was not covered with blood as it is, I'd be inclined to put you down as a chap with a screw loose."

"I'm not demented, I tell you," I cried warmly. "There's a terrible crime been committed, and I have sought your a.s.sistance."

"And I'd go and have a look at the premises with you, if you could only tell me where they are. But as you can't--well, what are we to do, sonny?"

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE WOMAN.

"Take me at once to the police-station," I said firmly. "I must make a statement to your inspector on duty."

"Not much good, is it, if you can't tell us where the affair took place?" queried the man, impertinently.

"It is my duty to make the report, and the duty of the police to investigate it," I answered, annoyed, for it seemed as though he doubted me.

"That's a nasty cut on your hand," he remarked. "How did you get it?"

"I cut it myself by accident with the knife."

"What knife?"

"The knife with which the murders were committed."

"And what were you doing with it?" inquired the constable, utterly regardless of the strict police regulation which forbids an officer to put any such questions.

"I found it," I replied.

"Where?"

"On the floor of the room, while I was searching about."

The man grunted dubiously.

I was well aware of the suspicion which must fall upon me, for I knew there was blood upon my clothes, and that my story possessed a distinct air of improbability.

"Who injured your head like that?" he asked.

In response, I told him how, in crossing a road, I had been knocked down and rendered insensible by a cab, and how, on regaining consciousness, I had found myself under the care of some woman unknown.

He gave vent to a short harsh laugh, as though discrediting my statements.

"You don't believe me," I blurted forth hastily. "Take me to your inspector. We must lose no time."