Part 47 (1/2)

”Which is her bedroom?”

”That's more than I can tell you. I ain't been upstairs myself.

I've got a bad leg, and ain't too fond of going up and down stairs, especially when there ain't no need of it. But you'll find it somewhere that way, I expect.”

”May I ask who you are?”

”Me?” Taking his pipe out, the man drew the back of his hand across his lips. ”I'm representing the landlord; that's what I am.”

”Representing the landlord? Do you mean that you're a bailiff?”

”A bailiff--that's it! I'm in possession; three quarters'

rent--nearly four. My governor was only just in time. Seems there's a bill of sale on the furniture. They came up with their vans as my governor was going over the place; wanted to clear everything out, they did. Of course my governor soon put a stopper on that. There was a bit of a talk. I shouldn't be surprised if they was to pay my governor out. It's a queer business from what I hear.”

”Please let me pa.s.s, I want to see Mrs. Lamb.”

The man drew well back into the house.

”Certainly; any lady can see Mrs. Lamb for what I care. I expect you'll find her somewhere about upstairs.”

As she ascended the staircase Miss Wallace indulged in inward comments.

”The house looked very different the night before last; n.o.body would have guessed then that the shadow of ruin was already hovering over it. She must be a curious person to give a party to all that crowd of people when she knew that at any hour the brokers might be in for rent. And to talk of financing Harry's play! and paying him three hundred a year for doing nothing! But then she is a curious person. The house looks as if nothing had been touched in it since Mrs. Lamb's reception came to a premature conclusion--it smells like it too. What have we here?

What a state of things!”

She glanced into the drawing-rooms, which remained in a state of amazing confusion. Mounting to the floor above she found herself confronted by two closed doors.

”I wonder if one of these is her bedroom. I'll try this.”

She turned the handle of the door which was directly in front of her, softly, and walked right in. It was the lady's bedroom, and the lady was in bed. Margaret had entered so quietly that apparently not the slightest sound had informed the mistress of the house that any one was there. The girl stood still.

”Pah! what an atmosphere! I'd sooner have every pane of gla.s.s broken than breathe air like this. I shouldn't think the windows have been open for days.” She glanced at the bed. ”Is she asleep?--at this hour?--with the broker's man downstairs?”

Laying her portfolio on a small table, she moved closer to the bed. Its occupant continued motionless. The girl, leaning forward, touched her, lightly, on the shoulder. Still no sign of life. The girl exchanged the light touch for a sudden, vigorous grip, giving the shoulder a wrench which must have roused the soundest sleeper. The woman started up in bed.

”Luker! is that you?” she cried.

When freshly roused from slumber, she saw who it was; her first impression seemed to be that she was still the victim of some haunting dream. Speechless, she stared at the girl, drawing farther and farther back the longer she stared. Her whole frame--her pose, her limbs, the muscles of her face--seemed to become rigid, set, as if she were afflicted by some new and awful form of teta.n.u.s. She appeared to be incapable of twitching a lip or of moving an eyelid. Even when Margaret spoke she persisted in her fixed and dreadful glare, as if she were some unpleasant statue.

”I am Margaret Wallace--as you are aware. I am she whom you drove from Cuthbert Grahame's door, pretending you were Nannie Foreshaw. These are the clothes I was wearing when you drove me away with lies and with hot water. See--here are the stains of that hot water still. Your sin has found you out; judgment is p.r.o.nounced; your punishment has already begun. Between you and me it is a duel to the death. It is your choice, not mine, but since you have forced it on me, I will fight you to the end, and I shall win. I know all about you--who you are, what you've done. I know that you were already a wife when you pretended to marry Cuthbert Grahame; that you committed bigamy. I know that you got that will from him by means of a trick. I know that so soon as you had got it you murdered him. You s.n.a.t.c.hed the pillows from under his head--see! like that!” She caught up the two pillows which lay upon the bolster and dropped them on the floor. ”Can't you hear the noise he makes in trying to breathe?

He's choking. You've only to leave him like that for a little while, and he'll be dead. And you left him! I know--I know.”

The woman listened to the hot, eager words which streamed from the girl's lips as if the speaker were some supernatural visitor, and the accusations were being hurled at her from on high; and still she never moved a muscle, she even seemed to cease to breathe.

”You see!--we are in Cuthbert Grahame's bedroom, you and I. I know it as well as you do--better--and you know it very well.

You'll never forget it--never!--to the last moment of your life.

There is the mantelpiece; it is made of wood--carved wood. It is old; old as the house itself; beautifully carved. You see there are two wooden pillars, one on either side, carved so that they stand out. You are quite right in supposing that there is something about them which you ought to see, to understand. I have come to tell you--to show you--what it is.”