DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
been expecting was waiting for her at the offices of the Aberdeen
Shipping Company. Now, if you are well up in your London, you will
know that the office of the company is in Fresno Street, which
branches out of Upper Swandam Lane, where you found me to-night. Mrs.
St. Clair had her lunch, started for the City, did some shopping,
proceeded to the company's office, got her packet, and found herself
at exactly 4.35 walking through Swandam Lane on her way back to the
station. Have you followed me so far?"

"It is very clear."

"If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly hot day, and Mrs. St.
Clair walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab, as
she did not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself. While
she was walking in this way down Swandam Lane, she suddenly heard an
ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her husband looking
down at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoning to her from a
second-floor window. The window was open, and she distinctly saw his
face, which she describes as being terribly agitated. He waved his
hands frantically to her, and then vanished from the window so
suddenly that it seemed to her that he had been plucked back by some
irresistible force from behind. One singular point which struck her
quick feminine eye was that although he wore some dark coat, such as
he had started to town in, he had on neither collar nor necktie.

"Convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down the
steps--for the house was none other than the opium den in which you
found me to-night--and running through the front room she attempted
to ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. At the foot of the
stairs, however, she met this Lascar scoundrel of whom I have spoken,
who thrust her back and, aided by a Dane, who acts as assistant
there, pushed her out into the street. Filled with the most maddening
doubts and fears, she rushed down the lane and, by rare good-fortune,
met in Fresno Street a number of constables with an inspector, all on
their way to their beat. The inspector and two men accompanied her
back, and in spite of the continued resistance of the proprietor,
they made their way to the room in which Mr. St. Clair had last been
seen. There was no sign of him there. In fact, in the whole of that
floor there was no one to be found save a crippled wretch of hideous
aspect, who, it seems, made his home there. Both he and the Lascar
stoutly swore that no one else had been in the front room during the
afternoon. So determined was their denial that the inspector was
staggered, and had almost come to believe that Mrs. St. Clair had
been deluded when, with a cry, she sprang at a small deal box which
lay upon the table and tore the lid from it. Out there fell a cascade
of children's bricks. It was the toy which he had promised to bring
home.

"This discovery, and the evident confusion which the cripple showed,
made the inspector realise that the matter was serious. The rooms
were carefully examined, and results all pointed to an abominable
crime. The front room was plainly furnished as a sitting-room and led
into a small bedroom, which looked out upon the back of one of the
wharves. Between the wharf and the bedroom window is a narrow strip,
which is dry at low tide but is covered at high tide with at least
four and a half feet of water. The bedroom window was a broad one and
opened from below. On examination traces of blood were to be seen
upon the windowsill, and several scattered drops were visible upon
the wooden floor of the bedroom. Thrust away behind a curtain in the
front room were all the clothes of Mr. Neville St. Clair, with the
exception of his coat. His boots, his socks, his hat, and his
watch--all were there. There were no signs of violence upon any of
these garments, and there were no other traces of Mr. Neville St.
Clair. Out of the window he must apparently have gone for no other
exit could be discovered, and the ominous bloodstains upon the sill
gave little promise that he could save himself by swimming, for the
tide was at its very highest at the moment of the tragedy.

"And now as to the villains who seemed to be immediately implicated
in the matter. The Lascar was known to be a man of the vilest
antecedents, but as, by Mrs. St. Clair's story, he was known to have
been at the foot of the stair within a very few seconds of her
husband's appearance at the window, he could hardly have been more
than an accessory to the crime. His defence was one of absolute
ignorance, and he protested that he had no knowledge as to the doings
of Hugh Boone, his lodger, and that he could not account in any way
for the presence of the missing gentleman's clothes.

"So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple who
lives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was certainly
the last human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St. Clair. His
name is Hugh Boone, and his hideous face is one which is familiar to
every man who goes much to the City. He is a professional beggar,
though in order to avoid the police regulations he pretends to a
small trade in wax vestas. Some little distance down Threadneedle
Street, upon the left-hand side, there is, as you may have remarked,
a small angle in the wall. Here it is that this creature takes his
daily seat, cross-legged with his tiny stock of matches on his lap,
and as he is a piteous spectacle a small rain of charity descends
into the greasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him.
I have watched the fellow more than once before ever I thought of
making his professional acquaintance, and I have been surprised at
the harvest which he has reaped in a short time. His appearance, you
see, is so remarkable that no one can pass him without observing him.
A shock of orange hair, a pale face disfigured by a horrible scar,
which, by its contraction, has turned up the outer edge of his upper
lip, a bulldog chin, and a pair of very penetrating dark eyes, which
present a singular contrast to the colour of his hair, all mark him
out from amid the common crowd of mendicants and so, too, does his
wit, for he is ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff which

been expecting was waiting for her at the offices of the Aberdeen

Shipping Company. Now, if you are well up in your London, you will

know that the office of the company is in Fresno Street, which

branches out of Upper Swandam Lane, where you found me to-night. Mrs.

St. Clair had her lunch, started for the City, did some shopping,

proceeded to the company's office, got her packet, and found herself

at exactly 4.35 walking through Swandam Lane on her way back to the

station. Have you followed me so far?"

"It is very clear."

"If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly hot day, and Mrs. St.

Clair walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab, as

she did not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself. While

she was walking in this way down Swandam Lane, she suddenly heard an

ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her husband looking

down at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoning to her from a

second-floor window. The window was open, and she distinctly saw his

face, which she describes as being terribly agitated. He waved his

hands frantically to her, and then vanished from the window so

suddenly that it seemed to her that he had been plucked back by some

irresistible force from behind. One singular point which struck her

quick feminine eye was that although he wore some dark coat, such as

he had started to town in, he had on neither collar nor necktie.

"Convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down the

steps--for the house was none other than the opium den in which you

found me to-night--and running through the front room she attempted

to ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. At the foot of the

stairs, however, she met this Lascar scoundrel of whom I have spoken,

who thrust her back and, aided by a Dane, who acts as assistant

there, pushed her out into the street. Filled with the most maddening

doubts and fears, she rushed down the lane and, by rare good-fortune,

met in Fresno Street a number of constables with an inspector, all on

their way to their beat. The inspector and two men accompanied her

back, and in spite of the continued resistance of the proprietor,

they made their way to the room in which Mr. St. Clair had last been

seen. There was no sign of him there. In fact, in the whole of that

floor there was no one to be found save a crippled wretch of hideous

aspect, who, it seems, made his home there. Both he and the Lascar

stoutly swore that no one else had been in the front room during the

afternoon. So determined was their denial that the inspector was

staggered, and had almost come to believe that Mrs. St. Clair had

been deluded when, with a cry, she sprang at a small deal box which

lay upon the table and tore the lid from it. Out there fell a cascade

of children's bricks. It was the toy which he had promised to bring

home.

"This discovery, and the evident confusion which the cripple showed,

made the inspector realise that the matter was serious. The rooms

were carefully examined, and results all pointed to an abominable

crime. The front room was plainly furnished as a sitting-room and led

into a small bedroom, which looked out upon the back of one of the

wharves. Between the wharf and the bedroom window is a narrow strip,

which is dry at low tide but is covered at high tide with at least

four and a half feet of water. The bedroom window was a broad one and

opened from below. On examination traces of blood were to be seen

upon the windowsill, and several scattered drops were visible upon

the wooden floor of the bedroom. Thrust away behind a curtain in the

front room were all the clothes of Mr. Neville St. Clair, with the

exception of his coat. His boots, his socks, his hat, and his

watch--all were there. There were no signs of violence upon any of

these garments, and there were no other traces of Mr. Neville St.

Clair. Out of the window he must apparently have gone for no other

exit could be discovered, and the ominous bloodstains upon the sill

gave little promise that he could save himself by swimming, for the

tide was at its very highest at the moment of the tragedy.

"And now as to the villains who seemed to be immediately implicated

in the matter. The Lascar was known to be a man of the vilest

antecedents, but as, by Mrs. St. Clair's story, he was known to have

been at the foot of the stair within a very few seconds of her

husband's appearance at the window, he could hardly have been more

than an accessory to the crime. His defence was one of absolute

ignorance, and he protested that he had no knowledge as to the doings

of Hugh Boone, his lodger, and that he could not account in any way

for the presence of the missing gentleman's clothes.

"So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple who

lives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was certainly

the last human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St. Clair. His

name is Hugh Boone, and his hideous face is one which is familiar to

every man who goes much to the City. He is a professional beggar,

though in order to avoid the police regulations he pretends to a

small trade in wax vestas. Some little distance down Threadneedle

Street, upon the left-hand side, there is, as you may have remarked,

a small angle in the wall. Here it is that this creature takes his

daily seat, cross-legged with his tiny stock of matches on his lap,

and as he is a piteous spectacle a small rain of charity descends

into the greasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him.

I have watched the fellow more than once before ever I thought of

making his professional acquaintance, and I have been surprised at

the harvest which he has reaped in a short time. His appearance, you

see, is so remarkable that no one can pass him without observing him.

A shock of orange hair, a pale face disfigured by a horrible scar,

which, by its contraction, has turned up the outer edge of his upper

lip, a bulldog chin, and a pair of very penetrating dark eyes, which

present a singular contrast to the colour of his hair, all mark him

out from amid the common crowd of mendicants and so, too, does his

wit, for he is ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff which