Part 38 (2/2)

”Bring up the jemmy as well,” he added, over the banisters. ”We may want it.”

A few minutes later the two men brought up a long oak settle from the hall, and bridging the fatal gulf, held it in position, while we pa.s.sed over, not, however, without difficulty, as the incline was so great.

Then when we were over we held it while they also scrambled up.

To the left was a closed door--the room from which had come the sound of Eric's voice on that fatal night. I recognised it in a moment, for it was pale green, picked out in a darker shade.

I opened it, and Pickering shone his lamp within. The blinds were up, but Edwards rushed and pulled them down. Then, on glancing round, I saw it was a pretty well-furnished room, another sitting-room, quite different from those below, as it was decorated in modern taste, with furniture covered with pale yellow silk and comfortable easy chairs, as though its owner were fond of luxury. The odour of stale cigars still hung in the curtains. Perhaps it was the vampire's den, a place where he could at all events be safe from intrusion with those fatal stairs between him and the street.

I explained my theory to the inspector, and he was inclined to agree with me.

Upon the floor lay a copy of an evening paper nearly a month old, while the London dust over everything told us that at least it had not been occupied recently.

In that room poor Eric had defied his captors. I looked eagerly around for any traces of him. Yes. My eye fell upon one object--a silver cigarette-case that I had given him two years ago!

The tell-tale object was lying upon the mantelshelf unheeded, tossed there, perhaps, on the night of the crime.

I handed it to Pickering and told him the truth.

”A very valuable piece of evidence, sir,” was the inspector's reply, placing it in his pocket. ”We shall get at the bottom of the affair now, depend upon it. The only thing is, we mustn't act too eagerly. We must have them all--or none; that's my opinion.”

Then, with his two men, he methodically searched the room, they carefully replacing everything as they found it in a manner which showed them to be expert investigators of crime. Indeed, while Pickering was an inspector of police, the two men were sergeants of the branch of the Criminal Investigation Department attached to the station. They examined quite a heterogeneous collection of things--the usual things one finds in a man's rooms. From a drawer in a kind of sideboard I took out a quant.i.ty of letters, beneath which I found a woman's necklace, a magnificent antique thing in diamonds and emeralds, which had apparently been hurriedly concealed there, and perhaps forgotten.

Pickering took it in his hand and examined it close to his lamp.

”Real, without a doubt, and a costly one, too! Been taken off some rich woman, perhaps. See! the snap has been broken. Perhaps they are afraid to get rid of it at once, so are keeping it. For the present let's put it back.”

As I replaced it I saw in the corner of the drawer a ring--a gold one with an engraved amethyst. This I at once recognised as poor Eric's signet ring! Concealed among papers, pamphlets, string, medicine bottles and other odds and ends, were other articles of jewellery mostly costly, as well as several beautiful ropes of pearls.

Were they, we wondered, the spoils of the dead? What had been the fate of Eric Domville? Had he been entrapped there, despoiled, as others had been, and then allowed to descend those fatal stairs to his doom?

That was Pickering's opinion, just as it was mine.

I longed to be allowed time to inspect the few letters beneath which the emerald necklace had been concealed, but Pickering urged me on, saying that we had yet much to do before morning.

So we entered the other rooms leading from the landing, but all were disappointing--all save one.

The door was opposite that wherein Eric had faced his enemies, and when we opened it we saw that it was a dirty faded place which had once been a bedroom, but there was now neither bedstead nor bedding. Upon the floor was an old drab threadbare carpet, in the centre of which was a large dark stain.

”Look!” I cried, pointing to it and bending to examine it more closely.

”Yes, I see,” remarked the inspector, directing his lamp full upon it.

”That's blood, sir--blood without the least doubt!”

”Blood!” I gasped. ”Then Domville was probably invited in here and struck down by those fiends--the brutes!”

Edwards went on his knees, and by the aid of his lamp examined the stain more carefully, touching it with his fingers.

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