Part 20 (1/2)

Mr. Mudge turned back to the window and pushed it still more open. It was a clear night of April, and April had brought with it the warmth of summer. Mr. Mudge stood at the open window facing the coolness and the quiet of the square; and thus by the accident of an overcrowded room he became the witness of a little episode which might almost have figured in some bygone comedy of intrigue.

Callon pa.s.sed through the line of carriages in the roadway beneath, and crossed the corner of the square to the pavement on the right-hand side. When he reached the pavement he walked for twenty yards or so in the direction of Piccadilly, until he came to a large and gloomy house. There a few shallow steps led from the pavement to the front door. Callon mounted the steps, rang the bell, and was admitted.

There were a few lights in the upper windows and on the ground floor; but it was evident that there was no party at the house. Callon had run in to pay a visit. Mr. Mudge, who had watched this, as it were, the first scene in the comedy, distinctly heard the door close, and the sound somehow suggested to him that the time had come for him to go home to bed. He looked at his watch. It was exactly a quarter past eleven--exactly, in a word, three-quarters of an hour since Tony Stretton, who ”had something else to do,” had taken his leave of his friend Chase in Stepney.

Mr. Mudge turned from the window to make his way to the door, and came face to face with Pamela and Alan Warrisden. Pamela spoke to him. He had never yet met Warrisden, and he was now introduced. All three stood and talked together for a few minutes by the open window. Then Mudge, in that spirit of curiosity which Callon always provoked in him, asked abruptly--

”By the way, Miss Mardale, do you happen to know who lives in that house?” and he pointed across the corner of the square to the house into which Callon had disappeared.

Pamela and Warrisden looked quickly at one another. Then Pamela turned with great interest to Mr. Mudge.

”Yes, we both know,” she answered. ”Why do you ask?”

”Well, I don't know,” said Mudge; ”I think that I should like to know.”

The glance which his two companions had exchanged, and Pamela's rather eager question, had quickened his curiosity. But he got no answer for a few moments. Both Pamela and Warrisden were looking out towards the house. They were standing side by side. Mr. Mudge had an intuition that the same thought was pa.s.sing through both their minds.

”That is where the truants lived last July,” said Warrisden, in a low voice. He spoke to Pamela, not to Mr. Mudge at all, whose existence seemed for the moment to have been clean forgotten.

”Yes,” Pamela replied softly. ”The dark house, where the truants lived and where”--she looked at Warrisden and smiled with a great friendliness--”where the new road began. For it was there really. It's from the steps of the dark house, not from the three poplars that the new road runs out.”

”Yes, that is true,” said Warrisden.

And again both were silent.

Mr. Mudge broke in upon the silence. ”I have no doubt that the truants lived there, and that the new road begins at the foot of the steps,”

he said plaintively; ”but neither statement adds materially to my knowledge.”

Pamela and Warrisden turned to him and laughed. It was true that they had for a moment forgotten Mr. Mudge. The memory of the star-lit night, in last July, when from this balcony they had watched the truants slip down the steps and furtively call a cab, was busy in their thoughts. From that night their alliance had dated, although no suspicion of it had crossed their minds. It seemed strange to them now that there had been no premonition.

”Well, who lives there?” asked Mudge.

But even now he received no answer; for Warrisden suddenly exclaimed in a low, startled voice--

”Look!” and with an instinctive movement he drew back into the room.

A man was standing in the road looking up at the windows of the dark house. His face could not be seen under the shadow of his hat. Pamela peered forward.

”Do you think it's he?” she asked in a whisper.

”I am not sure,” replied Warrisden.

”Oh, I hope so! I hope so!”

”I am not sure. Wait! Wait and look!” said Warrisden.

In a few moments the man moved. He crossed the road and stepped on to the pavement. Again he stopped, again he looked up to the house; then he walked slowly on. But he walked northwards, that is, towards the watchers at the window.

”There's a lamp-post,” said Warrisden; ”he will come within the light of it. We shall know.”

And the next moment the light fell white and clear upon Tony Stretton's face.