The Beetle (42 page)

She turned the key. We all went in—we, this time, in front, and
she behind.

A candle was guttering on a broken and dilapidated single washhand
stand. A small iron bedstead stood by its side, the clothes on
which were all tumbled and tossed. There was a rush-seated chair
with a hole in the seat,—and that, with the exception of one or
two chipped pieces of stoneware, and a small round mirror which
was hung on a nail against the wall, seemed to be all that the
room contained. I could see nothing in the shape of a murdered
man. Nor, it appeared, could the Inspector either.

'What's the meaning of this, Mrs Henderson? I don't see anything
here.'

'It's be'ind the bed, Mr Phillips. I left 'im just where I found
'im, I wouldn't 'ave touched 'im not for nothing, nor yet 'ave let
nobody else 'ave touched 'im neither, because, as I say, I know
'ow particular you pleesmen is.'

We all four went hastily forward. Atherton and I went to the head
of the bed, Lessingham and the Inspector, leaning right across the
bed, peeped over the side. There, on the floor in the space which
was between the bed and the wall, lay the murdered man.

At sight of him an exclamation burst from Sydney's lips.

'It's Holt!'

'Thank God!' cried Lessingham. 'It isn't Marjorie!'

The relief in his tone was unmistakable. That the one was gone was
plainly nothing to him in comparison with the fact that the other
was left.

Thrusting the bed more into the centre of the room I knelt down
beside the man on the floor. A more deplorable spectacle than he
presented I have seldom witnessed. He was decently clad in a grey
tweed suit, white hat, collar and necktie, and it was perhaps that
fact which made his extreme attenuation the more conspicuous. I
doubt if there was an ounce of flesh on the whole of his body. His
cheeks and the sockets of his eyes were hollow. The skin was drawn
tightly over his cheek bones,—the bones themselves were staring
through. Even his nose was wasted, so that nothing but a ridge of
cartilage remained. I put my arm beneath his shoulder and raised
him from the floor; no resistance was offered by the body's
gravity,—he was as light as a little child.

'I doubt,' I said, 'if this man has been murdered. It looks to me
like a case of starvation, or exhaustion,—possibly a combination
of both.'

'What's that on his neck?' asked the Inspector,—he was kneeling
at my side.

He referred to two abrasions of the skin,—one on either side of
the man's neck.

'They look to me like scratches. They seem pretty deep, but I
don't think they're sufficient in themselves to cause death.'

'They might be, joined to an already weakened constitution. Is
there anything in his pockets?—let's lift him on to the bed.'

We lifted him on to the bed,—a featherweight he was to lift.
While the Inspector was examining his pockets—to find them empty
—a tall man with a big black beard came bustling in. He proved to
be Dr Glossop, the local police surgeon, who had been sent for
before our quitting the Station House.

His first pronouncement, made as soon as he commenced his
examination, was, under the circumstances, sufficiently startling.

'I don't believe the man's dead. Why didn't you send for me
directly you found him?'

The question was put to Mrs Henderson.

'Well, Dr Glossop, I wouldn't touch 'im myself, and I wouldn't
'ave 'im touched by no one else, because, as I've said afore, I
know 'ow particular them pleesmen is.'

'Then in that case, if he does die you'll have had a hand in
murdering him,—that's all'

The lady sniggered. 'Of course Dr Glossop, we all knows that
you'll always 'ave your joke.'

'You'll find it a joke if you have to hang, as you ought to, you—'
The doctor said what he did say to himself, under his breath.
I doubt if it was flattering to Mrs Henderson. 'Have you got any
brandy in the house?'

'We've got everythink in the 'ouse for them as likes to pay for
it,—everythink.' Then, suddenly remembering that the police were
present, and that hers were not exactly licensed premises,
'Leastways we can send out for it for them parties as gives us the
money, being, as is well known, always willing to oblige.'

'Then send for some,—to the tap downstairs, if that's the
nearest! If this man dies before you've brought it I'll have you
locked up as sure as you're a living woman.'

The arrival of the brandy was not long delayed,—but the man on
the bed had regained consciousness before it came. Opening his
eyes he looked up at the doctor bending over him.

'Hollo, my man! that's more like the time of day! How are you
feeling?'

The patient stared hazily up at the doctor, as if his sense of
perception was not yet completely restored,—as if this big
bearded man was something altogether strange. Atherton bent down
beside the doctor.

'I'm glad to see you looking better, Mr Holt. You know me don't
you? I've been running about after you all day long.'

'You are—you are—' The man's eyes closed, as if the effort at
recollection exhausted him. He kept them closed as he continued to
speak.

'I know who you are. You are—the gentleman.'

'Yes, that's it, I'm the gentleman,—name of Atherton.—Miss
Lindon's friend. And I daresay you're feeling pretty well done up,
and in want of something to eat and drink,—here's some brandy for
you.'

The doctor had some in a tumbler. He raised the patient's head,
allowing it to trickle down his throat. The man swallowed it
mechanically, motionless, as if unconscious what it was that he
was doing. His cheeks flushed, the passing glow of colour caused
their condition of extraordinary, and, indeed, extravagant
attentuation, to be more prominent than ever. The doctor laid him
back upon the bed, feeling his pulse with one hand, while he stood
and regarded him in silence.

Then, turning to the Inspector, he said to him in an undertone;

'If you want him to make a statement he'll have to make it now,
he's going fast. You won't be able to get much out of him,—he's
too far gone, and I shouldn't bustle him, but get what you can.'

The Inspector came to the front, a notebook in his hand.

'I understand from this gentleman—' signifying Atherton—'that
your name's Robert Holt. I'm an Inspector of police, and I want
you to tell me what has brought you into this condition. Has
anyone been assaulting you?'

Holt, opening his eyes, glanced up at the speaker mistily, as if
he could not see him clearly,—still less understand what it was
that he was saying. Sydney, stooping over him, endeavoured to
explain.

'The Inspector wants to know how you got here, has anyone been
doing anything to you? Has anyone been hurting you?'

The man's eyelids were partially closed. Then they opened wider
and wider. His mouth opened too. On his skeleton features there
came a look of panic fear. He was evidently struggling to speak.
At last words came.

'The beetle!' He stopped. Then, after an effort, spoke again. 'The
beetle!'

'What's he mean?' asked the Inspector.

'I think I understand,' Sydney answered; then turning again to the
man in the bed. 'Yes, I hear what you say,—the beetle. Well, has
the beetle done anything to you?'

'It took me by the throat!'

'Is that the meaning of the marks upon your neck?'

'The beetle killed me.'

The lids closed. The man relapsed into a state of lethargy. The
Inspector was puzzled;—and said so.

'What's he mean about a beetle?'

Atherton replied.

'I think I understand what he means,—and my friends do too. We'll
explain afterwards. In the meantime I think I'd better get as much
out of him as I can,—while there's time.'

'Yes,' said the doctor, his hand upon the patient's pulse, 'while
there's time. There isn't much—only seconds.'

Sydney endeavoured to rouse the man from his stupor.

'You've been with Miss Lindon all the afternoon and evening,
haven't you, Mr Holt?'

Atherton had reached a chord in the man's consciousness. His lips
moved,—in painful articulation.

'Yes—all the afternoon—and evening—God help me!'

'I hope God will help you my poor fellow; you've been in need of
His help if ever man was. Miss Lindon is disguised in your old
clothes, isn't she?'

'Yes,—in my old clothes. My God!'

'And where is Miss Lindon now?'

The man had been speaking with his eyes closed. Now he opened
them, wide; there came into them the former staring horror. He
became possessed by uncontrollable agitation,—half raising
himself in bed. Words came from his quivering lips as if they were
only drawn from him by the force of his anguish.

'The beetle's going to kill Miss Lindon.'

A momentary paroxysm seemed to shake the very foundations of his
being. His whole frame quivered. He fell back on to the bed,—
ominously. The doctor examined him in silence—while we too were
still.

'This time he's gone for good, there'll be no conjuring him back
again.'

I felt a sudden pressure on my arm, and found that Lessingham was
clutching me with probably unconscious violence. The muscles of
his face were twitching. He trembled. I turned to the doctor.

'Doctor, if there is any of that brandy left will you let me have
it for my friend?'

Lessingham disposed of the remainder of the 'shillings worth.' I
rather fancy it saved us from a scene.

The Inspector was speaking to the woman of the house.

'Now, Mrs Henderson, perhaps you'll tell us what all this means.
Who is this man, and how did he come in here, and who came in with
him, and what do you know about it altogether? If you've got
anything to say, say it, only you'd better be careful, because
it's my duty to warn you that anything you do say may be used
against you.'

Mrs Henderson put her hands under her apron and smirked.

'Well, Mr Phillips, it do sound strange to 'ear you talkin' to me
like that. Anybody'd think I'd done something as I didn't ought to
'a' done to 'ear you going on. As for what's 'appened, I'll tell
you all I know with the greatest willingness on earth. And as for
bein' careful, there ain't no call for you to tell me to be that,
for that I always am, as by now you ought to know.'

'Yes,—I do know. Is that all you have to say?'

'Rilly, Mr Phillips, what a man you are for catching people up,
you rilly are. O' course that ain't all I've got to say,—ain't I
just a-comin' to it?'

'Then come.'

'If you presses me so you'll muddle of me up, and then if I do
'appen to make a herror, you'll say I'm a liar, when goodness
knows there ain't no more truthful woman not in Limehouse.'

Words plainly trembled on the Inspector's lips,—which he
refrained from uttering. Mrs Henderson cast her eyes upwards, as
if she sought for inspiration from the filthy ceiling.

'So far as I can swear it might 'ave been a hour ago, or it might
'ave been a hour and a quarter, or it might 'ave been a hour and
twenty minutes—'

'We're not particular as to the seconds.'

'When I 'ears a knockin' at my front door, and when I comes to
open it, there was a Harab party, with a great bundle on 'is 'ead,
bigger nor 'isself, and two other parties along with him. This
Harab party says, in that queer foreign way them Harab parties 'as
of talkin', "A room for the night, a room." Now I don't much care
for foreigners, and never did, especially them Harabs, which their
'abits ain't my own,—so I as much 'ints the same. But this 'ere
Harab party, he didn't seem to quite foller of my meaning, for all
he done was to say as he said afore, "A room for the night, a
room." And he shoves a couple of 'arf crowns into my 'and. Now
it's always been a motter o' mine, that money is money, and one
man's money is as good as another man's. So, not wishing to be
disagreeable—which other people would have taken 'em if I 'adn't,
I shows 'em up 'ere. I'd been downstairs it might 'ave been 'arf a
hour, when I 'ears a shindy a-coming from this room—'

'What sort of a shindy?'

'Yelling and shrieking—oh my gracious, it was enough to set your
blood all curdled,—for ear-piercingness I never did 'ear nothing
like it. We do 'ave troublesome parties in 'ere, like they do
elsewhere, but I never did 'ear nothing like that before. I stood
it for about a minute, but it kep' on, and kep' on, and every
moment I expected as the other parties as was in the 'ouse would
be complainin', so up I comes and I thumps at the door, and it
seemed that thump I might for all the notice that was took of me.'

'Did the noise keep on?'

'Keep on! I should think it did keep on! Lord love you! shriek
after shriek, I expected to see the roof took off.'

'Were there any other noises? For instance, were there any sounds
of struggling, or of blows?'

'There weren't no sounds except of the party hollering.'

'One party only?'

'One party only. As I says afore, shriek after shriek,—when you
put your ear to the panel there was a noise like some other party
blubbering, but that weren't nothing, as for the hollering you
wouldn't have thought that nothing what you might call 'umin could
'ave kep' up such a screechin'. I thumps and thumps and at last
when I did think that I should 'ave to 'ave the door broke down,
the Harab says to me from inside, "Go away! I pay for the room! go
away!" I did think that pretty good, I tell you that. So I says,
"Pay for the room or not pay for the room, you didn't pay to make
that shindy!" And what's more I says, "If I 'ear it again," I
says, "out you goes! And if you don't go quiet I'll 'ave somebody
in as'll pretty quickly make you!"'

'Then was there silence?'

'So to speak there was,—only there was this sound as if some
party was a-blubbering, and another sound as if a party was a-
panting for his breath.'