The Beckoning Fair One by Oliver Onions - HTML preview

Chapter XII

In the bright June sunlight a crowd filled the square, and looked up at the windows of the old house with the antique insurance marks in its walls of red brick and the agents' notice-boards hanging like wooden choppers over the paling. Two constables stood at the broken gate of the narrow entrance-alley, keeping folk back. The women kept to the outskirts of the throng, moving now an then as if to see the drawn red blinds of the old house from a new angle, and talking in whispers. The children were in the houses, behind closed doors. A long-nosed man had a little group about him, and he was telling some story over and over again; and another man, little and fat and wide-eyed, sought to capture the long-nosed man's audience with some relation in which a key figured. ". . . and it was revealed to me that there'd been something that very afternoon," the long-nosed man was saying. "I was standing there, where Constable Saunders is--or rather, I was passing about my business, when they came out. There was no deceiving me, oh, no deceiving me! I saw her face. . . . " "What was it like, Mr. Barrett?" a man asked.
"It was like hers whom our Lord said to, Woman, doth any man accuse tee?'-white as paper, and no mistake! Don't tell me! . . . And so I walks straight across to Mrs. Barrett, and Jane,' I says, this must stop, and stop at once; we are commanded to avoid evil,' I says, and it must come to an end now; let him get help elsewhere.' And she says to me, John,' she says, it's four-and-sixpence a week'--them was her words. Jane," I says, if it was forty-six thousand pounds it should top' . . . and from that day to this she hasn't set foot inside that gate." There was a short silence: then,
"Did Mrs. Barrett ever . . . see anythink, like?" somebody vaguely inquired. Barrett turned austerely on the speaker.
"What Mrs. Barrett saw and Mrs. Barrett didn't see shall not pas these lips; even as it is written, keep thy tongue from speaking evil," he said.
Another man spoke.
"He was pretty near canned up in the Wagon and Horses that night, weren't he, Jim?"
"Yes, e hadn't half copped it. . . . "
"Not standing treat much, neither; he was in the bar, all on his own. . . . " "So e was; we talked about it. . . . "
The fat, scared-eyed man made another attempt.
"She got the key off of me--she had the number of it--she came into my shop of a Tuesday evening. . . . "
Nobody heeded him.
"Shut your heads," a heavy labourer commented gruffly, "she hasn't been found yet. Ere's the inspectors; we shall know more in a bit."
Two inspectors had come up and were talking to the constables who guarded the gate. The little fat man ran eagerly forwarded, saying that she had bought the key of him. "I remember the number, because of it's being three one's and three three's--111333!" he explained excitedly.
An inspector put him aside.
"Nobody's been in?" he asked of one of the constables.
"No, sir."
"Then you, Brackley, come with us; you, Smith, keep the gate. There's a squad on its way."
The two inspectors and the constable passed down the alley and entered the house. They mounted the wide carved staircase.
"This don't look as if he'd been out much lately," one of the inspectors uttered as he kicked aside a littler of dead leaves and papers that lay outside Oleron's door. "I don't think we need knock--break a pane, Brackley."
The door had two glazed panels; there was a sound of shattered glass; and Brackley put his hand through the hole his elbow had made and drew back the latch.
"Faugh!" . . . choked one of the inspectors as they entered. "Let some light and air in, quick. It stinks like a hearse------"
The assembly out in the square saw the red blinds go up and the windows of the old house flung open.
"That's better," said one of the inspectors, putting his head out of a window and drawing a deep breath. . . . "That seems to be the bedroom in there; will you go in, Simms, while I go over the rest? . . . "
They had drawn up the bedroom blind also, and the waxy-white, emaciated man on the bed had made a blinker of his hand against the torturing flood of brightness. Nor could he believe that his hearing was not playing tricks with him, for there were two policemen in his room, bending over him and asking where "she" was. He shook his head.
"This woman Bengough . . . goes by the name of Miss Elsie Bengough . . . d'ye hear? Where is she? . . . No good, Brackley; get him up; be careful with him; I'll just shove my head out of the window, I think. . . . "
The other inspector had been through Oleron's study and had found nothing, and was now in the kitchen, kicking aside an ankle-deep mass of vegetable refuse that cumbered the floor. The kitchen window had no blind, and was overshadowed by the blank end of the house across the alley. The kitchen appeared to be empty.
But the inspector, kicking aside the dead flowers, noticed that a shuffling trick that was not of his making had been swept to a cupboard in the corner. In the upper part of the door of the cupboard was a square panel that looked as if it slid on runners. The door itself was closed.
The inspector advanced, put out his hand to the little knob, and slid the hatch along the groove.
Then he took an involuntary step back again.
Framed in the aperture, and falling forward a little before it jammed again in its frame, was something that resembled a large lumpy pudding, done up in a pudding-bag of faded browny, red frieze.
"Ah!" said the inspector.
To close the hatch again he would have had to thrust that pudding back with his hand; and somehow he did not quite like the idea of touching it. Instead, he turned the handle of the cupboard itself. There was weight behind it, so much weight that, after opening the door three and four inches and peering inside, he had to put his shoulder to it in order to close it again. In closing it he left sticking out, a few inches from the floor, a triangle of black and white check skirt. He went into the small hall
"All right!" he called.
They had got Oleron into his clothes. He still used his hands as blinkers, and his brain was very confused. A number of things were happening that he couldn't understand. He couldn't understand the extraordinary mess of dead flowers there seemed to be everywhere; he couldn't understand why there should be police officers in his room; he couldn't understand why one of these should be sent for a four-wheeler and a stretcher; and he couldn't understand what heavy article they seemed to be moving about in the kitchen--his kitchen. . . .
"What's the matter?" he muttered sleepily. . . .
Then he heard a murmur in the square, and the stopping of a four-wheeler outside. A police officer was at his elbow again, and Oleron wondered why, when he whispered something to him, he should run off a string of words---something about "used in evidence against you." They had lifted him to his feet, and were assisting him towards the door. . . .
No, Oleron couldn't understand it at all.
They got him down the stairs and along the alley. Oleron was aware of confused angry shoutings; he gathered that a number of people wanted to lynch somebody or other. Then his attention became fixed on a little fat frightened-eyed man who appeared to be making a statement that an officer was taking down in a notebook.
"I'd seen her with him . . . they was often together . . . she came into my shop and said it was for him . . . I thought it was all right . . . 111333 the number was," the man was saying.
The people seemed to be very angry; many police were keeping them back; but one of the inspectors had a voice that Oleron thought quite kind and friendly. He was telling somebody to get somebody else into the cab before something or other was brought out; and Oleron noticed that a four-wheeler was drawn up at the gate. It appeared that it was himself who was to be put into it; and as they lifted him up he saw that the inspector tried to stand between him and something that stood behind the cab, but was not quick enough to prevent Oleron seeing that this something was a hooded stretcher. The angry voices sounded like sea; something hard, like a stone, hit the back of the cab; and the inspector followed Oleron in and stood with his back to the window nearer the side where the people were. The door they had put Oleron in at remained open, apparently till the other inspector should come; and through the opening Oleron had a glimpse of the hatchet-like "To Let" boards among the privet-tree. One of them said that the key was at Number Six. . . .
Suddenly the raging of voices was hushed. Along the entrance-alley shuffling steps were heard, and the other inspector appeared at the cab door. "Right away," he said to the driver.
He entered, fastened the door after him, and blocked up the second window with his back. Between the two inspectors Oleron slept peacefully. The cab moved down the square, the other vehicle went up the hill. The mortuary lay that way.