Part 34 (2/2)

Tavernake stopped short.

”I don't want your warnings!” he said angrily. ”I don't want you interfering in my affairs!”

The detective smiled quietly. Then a new expression suddenly tightened his lips.

”Never mind about that just now!” he exclaimed. ”See here, take this police whistle from my left hand, quick, and blow it for all that you are worth!”

It was characteristic of Tavernake that he was prepared to obey without a second's hesitation. The opportunity, however, was denied him. The events which followed came and pa.s.sed like a thought. A blow on his left wrist and the whistle fell into the road. A dark figure had sprung up, apparently from s.p.a.ce; a long arm was twined around Pritchard's neck, bending him backwards; there was a gleam of steel within a few inches of his throat. And then Tavernake saw a wonderful thing. With a turn of his wrist, Pritchard suddenly seemed to lift the form of his a.s.sailant into the air. Tavernake caught a swift impression of a man's white face, the head pointing to the street, the legs twitching convulsively. Head over heels Pritchard seemed to throw him, while the knife clattered harmlessly into the roadway. The man lay crumpled up and moaning before the door of one of the houses. Pritchard sprang after him. The door had been cautiously opened and the man crawled through; Pritchard followed; then the door closed and Tavernake beat upon it in vain.

For several seconds--it seemed to Tavernake much longer--he stood gazing at the door, breathing heavily, absolutely unable to collect his thoughts. The whole affair had happened with such amazing celerity! He could not bring himself to realize it, to believe that it was Pritchard who had been with him only a few seconds ago, who in danger of his life had performed that marvelous trick of jiu-jutsu, had followed his unknown a.s.sailant into that dark, mysterious house, from no single window of which was a single gleam of light visible. Tavernake had led an uneventful life. Of the pa.s.sions which breed murder and the desire to kill he knew nothing. He was dazed with the suddenness of it all. How could such a thing happen in the midst of London, in a thoroughfare only momentarily deserted, at the further end of which, indeed, were many signs of life! Then the thought of that knife made him s.h.i.+ver--blue glittering steel cutting the air like whipcord. He remembered the look in the a.s.sa.s.sin's face--horrible, an epitome of the pa.s.sions, which seemed to reveal to him in that moment the existence of some other, some unknown world, about which he had neither read nor dreamed.

The sound of footsteps came as an immense relief. A man came round the corner, smoking a cigarette and humming softly to himself. The presence of another human being seemed suddenly to bring Tavernake's feet back upon the earth. He moved toward the pavement and addressed the newcomer.

”Can you tell me how to get inside that house?” he asked quickly.

The man removed the cigarette from his mouth and stared at his questioner.

”I should ring the bell,” he replied, ”but surely it's unoccupied? What do you want to get in there for?”

”Less than a minute ago,” Tavernake told him, ”I was walking here with a friend. A man came up behind us and tried deliberately to stab him.

He bolted afterwards through that door, my friend followed him, the door was closed in my face.”

The newcomer was a youngish man, a musician, who had just come from a concert and was on his way to the club at the end of the street.

Probably, had he been a journalist, his curiosity would have been greater than his incredulity. As it was, however, he gazed at Tavernake, for a moment, blankly.

”Look here,” he said, ”this doesn't sound a very likely story of yours, you know.”

”I don't care whether it's likely or not,” Tavernake answered hotly; ”it's true! The knife's somewhere in the road there--it fell up against the railings.”

They crossed the road together and searched. There were no signs of the weapon. Tavernake peered over the railings.

”When my friend struck the other man and twisted him over,” he explained, ”the knife seemed to fly up into the air; it might even have reached the gardens.”

His companion turned slowly away.

”Well, it's no use looking down there for it,” he remarked. ”We might try the door, if you like.”

They leaned their weight against it, hammered at the panels, and waited.

The door was fast closed and no reply came. The musician shrugged his shoulders and prepared to depart, after one more glance at Tavernake, half suspicious, half questioning.

”If you think it worth while,” he said, ”you had better fetch the police, perhaps. If you take my advice, though, I think I should go home and forget all about it.”

He pa.s.sed on, leaving Tavernake speechless. The idea that people might not believe his story had never seriously occurred to him. Yet all of a sudden he began to doubt it himself. He stepped back into the road and looked up at the windows of the house--dark, uncurtained, revealing no sign of life or habitation. Had he really taken that walk with Pritchard, stood on this spot with him only a minute or two ago? Then he picked up the police whistle and he had no longer any doubts. The whole scene was before him again, more vividly than ever. Even at this moment, Pritchard might be in need of help!

He turned and walked sharply to the corner of the Terrace, finding himself almost immediately face to face with a policeman.

”You must come into this house with me at once!” Tavernake exclaimed, pointing backwards. ”A friend of mine was attacked here just now; a man tried to stab him. They are both in that house. The man ran away and my friend followed him. The door is closed and no one answers.”

<script>