The Crime and the Criminal

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  MR. TOWNSEND COMES TO TEA.

  I have not lived in the world so long as I have done, and seen so muchof it, without realising how small a world, after all, it really is,and how full it is of coincidence; but I do think that this beats allthe coincidences of which I ever heard.

  To think that I should have pitched on the one street in London whichMr. Thomas Tennant has chosen for a residence! It seems that I have. Ilay awake for an hour trying to account for his sudden appearance fromthat cab. At last I hit on something. I sat up in bed with quite ajump.

  "Can it be possible that he lives in this street?"

  Rest was out of the question till I had made sure. I got out of bed--itwas nearer five than four--and I tiptoed my way downstairs. I routedout a directory, and I hunted up the street. Sure enough he did. Therewas his name, as large as life--"Thomas Tennant." He lived at No. 29.My house was blank--it had been empty at the time the directory hadgone to press--but I had taken No. 39.

  "Well, this beats everything! To think that I have spent all thismoney, and come all this way, to plant myself five doors from Mr.Tennant!"

  He might be unwilling to have me for a neighbour, but I could assurehim that I was equally unwilling to have him. I did not wish the firstentry on the fresh leaf which I had turned to be a reminiscence, andespecially a reminiscence of that particular friend.

  I thought that was strange enough, but stranger things were yet tofollow. What a queer little world this is!

  Recognising that it was no use addling my brains by puzzling outconundrums at that time of the morning, so soon as, by reading it overand over again in the directory, I had made quite sure that my eyes hadnot misled me, and that Tommy did reside five doors away, I toddled upto bed again. "There is nothing like leather," says the proverb. I saythere is nothing like sleep. Give me plenty of sleep and I am good foranything. As I have always been blessed with a clear conscience--ifthere is a vacuum where the conscience ought to be it must beclear--and, what is equally to be desired, a good digestion, I haveever found sleep come at my bidding. Once I have my toes well downbetween the sheets, my head on the pillow, and the blankets well up tomy ears, I snooze. I know I did just then. And I never dreamed; none ofJack Haines's lively visions came my way.

  I looked at my watch when I awoke. It was past eleven. I just turnedover. I had a stretch. I believe that, when you wake in the morning, itdoes you good to have a stretch; it seems to help you to realise thatthere is a piece of you between your head and your heels. "What shouldI do?"

  "I'll have some tea."

  I had some tea. The girl brought me the letters and the papers. Therewas nothing in the letters, but in the papers there were ructions!

  At first I could not make out what it was all about. Directly I openedthe _Telegraph_ these were the words, in big, black letters, staring mein the face: "Murder on the Brighton Line." That was my friend, thegentleman! But at first, as I have said, the more I looked at it themore I couldn't make it out.

  A platelayer--whatever that might be in connection with a railwayline--going to his work in the morning had seen the body lying amongthe bushes--in that clump of bushes, I took it, where it had almostfallen on top of me. That was all right. Where I found the puzzle wasin what directly followed. The girl had, of course, been murdered inthe field, probably within a foot or two of where I had seen Townsendstanding. The papers, or the people who inspired the papers, seemed tothink that the murder had taken place in a train, and that then thebody had been thrown on to the line. What could have made them thinksuch a thing as that?

  As I read on the whole thing flashed upon me; it was anothercoincidence!

  It seemed that when the 8.40 train from Brighton had arrived atVictoria--the 8.40? Why, that was the train in which I had travelledwith Tommy! My stars and bars!--it was discovered that the window inone of the carriages was shivered to atoms, that the carriage wasmarked with blood, and that it bore signs of having been the scene of arecent struggle.

  Jerusalem! what was coming next? I had to put down the paper and takeanother drink of tea.

  Nothing came next except what they called a "presumption," and if everthere was a piece of real presumption it was that same.

  The presumption, according to the papers, was that the railway carriagehad been the scene of a hideous tragedy--of a frightful murder, of oneof those recurrent crimes, which force us, from time to time, torecognise the dangers which, in England, at any rate, are associatedwith railway travelling. The identity of one of the _dramatispersonae_--as poor, dear Daniel used to say, "I'm a-quoting"--wasunfortunately, but too evident. There was the woman who had been foundlying among the laurels--I wonder if they were laurels?--with her faceturned towards the skies. As a matter of fact, she had lain facedownwards. It was owing to that I had not seen her face. She was asilent but an eloquent witness--that was touching. The publicdemanded the prompt production of at least another of the _dramatispersonae_--"still a-quoting"--of the man--it would not, perhaps, displaytoo much rashness to hazard the prediction that it would prove to be aman--who had hurled her there.

  If that did not point to Tommy, I should like to know to whom itpointed.

  I began to wonder. What had Tommy done when I had made my exit? Had hedone nothing but twiddle his thumbs and stare? It would becharacteristic of him if he had. He never did do the right thing at theright time if there was a wrong thing which could be done. The windowmight have been smashed by the banging of the door. I dare say thatthere had been signs of a struggle. I could not make out about theblood, but, perhaps, in the midst of his muddle, Tommy's nose hadstarted bleeding. That was just the sort of thing his nose would do. Itwas quite conceivable, to one who knew him, that Tommy had toddled homewithout saying a word to any one about the lady who had tumbled outupon the line. If so----

  If so, and I kept in the background, it was equally conceivable that,as a glorious climax to the muddle, because of that woman who had beenfound upon the line, Tommy might find himself in a very awkward fix.

  I had to take another drink of tea.

  I found what might turn out to be the top brick of the building while Iwas in the very act of drinking. Tommy himself might think that I wasdead. I might have died. From a mere consideration of the odds point ofview, I ought to have died. The miracle was that I wasn't dead. Tommyknew nothing about the woman who had been thrown on the top of me. Hemight think--he was capable of thinking anything, but in the presentinstance it was natural that he should think--that the body which hadbeen found was mine.

  If he did think so?

  But he had seen me the night before. The fact rather supported mytheories than otherwise. He had glared at me as if I had been a ghost.The sight of me had struck him senseless. According to the cabman, hewas drunk. Knowing what he knew, or what he thought he knew, he mightvery well suppose that I was a creature born of his delirium.

  It appeared to me that my cue, for the present, at any rate, was tokeep sitting on the fence. I might still be even with Tommy, and thatwithout having to move a finger of either hand. As for my friend, thegentleman--we should see.

  Oddly enough, I came across Mr. Reginald Townsend that very afternoon.I had been shopping--shopping was about all there was for me to do;after Strikehigh City I found life pretty dull West Kensington way, butthen I had expected it to be dull. As I was strolling homewards, whoshould I see but Mr. Reginald Townsend. He was a sight for soreeyes--at least, he was a sight for mine. I like to see a man that is aman--handsome, well set up, and dressed as only the thoroughbred manknows how to dress. I am not so particular about a man's morals asabout his manners, and his manners were all they ought to be. From hisbearing, as he stood there, in front of me, you would have thought Iwas the very person he had wanted to see and had expected to see. Idon't believe that he had supposed that I was within a hundred miles ofhim. I should not have been surprised to learn that, until my actualpresence recalled it to him, he had
entirely forgotten my existence.

  He was the sort of creature one finds amusing.

  After poor, dear Daniel one liked to feel that one was connected withsuch a picture of a man. One liked to feel that he was doing credit toone's good taste as he was walking by one's side.

  I asked him to come and have a cup of tea. He was delighted, or heprofessed to be. When I remembered the occasion on which I had firstencountered him it seemed to me that, in his heart of hearts--orwhatever it was that passed for his heart of hearts--he must wish thatI was at the bottom of the sea. He could not like being reminded ofThree Bridges Junction. But one can never tell. From his manner hemight have met me first of all in Queen Victoria's drawing-room, andnone but pleasant memories might have been connected with the meeting.

  When we got indoors, who should I find in the drawing-room, sitting insolitary state, but Mr. Haines. The look he gave me! And the look hegave my friend, the gentleman! The old nuisance might have been myhusband.

  Mr. Townsend appeared oblivious of there being anything peculiar inthe old worry's demeanour, and, fortunately, the old worry did not staylong, considerably to my surprise. I was afraid that he would make apoint of outstaying Mr. Townsend. But it was all the other way. Afterhe had tried to freeze us for about five minutes he disappeared.

  "It's very odd," said Mr. Townsend, as soon as he was gone, "but I'veeither seen that gentleman before or somebody very like him. There'ssomething in his face which positively haunts me."

  I shook my head.

  "Your imagination plays you a trick; it sometimes is like that. Mr.Haines has only been in England, for the first time in his life, forabout a month. He was my late husband's partner. I fancy he is underthe impression that I'm a little lonely."

  "That is a complaint which may easily be cured."

  "The complaint of loneliness?"

  "You will be able to make as many friends as you desire."

  "It is not so easy for a woman to make friends as you may, perhaps,suppose--that is, of course, friends who are worth the making. You see,I have ambitions."

  "Ambitions?"

  "Yes, ambitions." He looked as if he would have liked to have asked mewhat I meant, only he was too civil. "In my position I think I amentitled to have ambitions."

  He still seemed puzzled. It did me good to look at him, to know that hewas sitting there, to breathe in, as it were, the aroma of hisrefinement and his high breeding. I have always hungered for those twothings in a man, and I have never had them. I could understand awoman's falling in love with my friend, the gentleman. For the firsttime in my life the idea of a woman being in love with a man becameconceivable.

  All too soon--for me--he rose to go.

  "You will come again?"

  "I shall only be too happy."

  "Seriously, I mean it, Mr. Townsend."

  "And equally seriously I mean it too. Our acquaintance was made in aninformal fashion, but I trust that, in course of time, I may be able toinduce you to allow the informality to stand excused."

  "It will be your fault if you do not."

  When he went an appreciable something seemed to have departed with him,and that although his voice, his presence, seemed still to linger inthe air. I found myself touching the cup from which he had beendrinking, even the chair on which he had been sitting, with quite acurious sensation.

  It was very odd.

  I believe that if I had been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, andthe right sort of man to whom to attach myself, and to become attachedto him, I should have been one of the best women in the world. I agreewith Becky Sharp, that for a woman five thousand a year is something;but it is nothing, after all, without a man. Love in a cottage is alunatic absurdity. Love itself may be all stuff. But there is somethingwhich, for all I can tell, may be akin to love. If one never knows it,life can never have its fullest savour. Perhaps, after all, for everysquare peg there may be a square hole somewhere in the world. If, whenit meets it--it might; one can conceive that such meetings are--itcannot claim, and obtain possession, it will be hard upon the peg.

  I had half a mind to tell the girl to put the cup which he had usedaside and keep it free from the contamination of anybody else's lipsuntil he came again. It would seem so silly. And yet----

  Somebody came striding into the room. I turned. It was Jack Haines comeback again. I almost dropped the cup, which I was holding, from my handin my surprise. He was looking as black as black could be and hismanners proved to be in full accord with his looks.

  "Who is that man?"

  "What man? What is the matter with you, Mr. Haines? I thought that youhad gone."

  "You know what man I mean--he who has just left your house."

  "I am at a loss to know how it concerns you. That gentleman is a friendof mine."

  "He is a thing of evil."

  "Mr. Haines!"

  "He is a shedder of innocent blood!"

  Jack Haines was becoming really charming. I had always known he couldbe pleasant. I was only just beginning to realise how pleasant he couldbe when he tried.

  "Mr. Haines, are you stark mad?"

  "Woman!"

  "Sit down."

  He was raging like a wild bull about the room.

  "Why should I sit down?" He threw up his hands. "I warn you againstthat man!"

  "Sit down!"

  I pointed to a chair. He sat down--I knew he would--and he looked as ifhe would like to eat me for forcing him to do it.

  "Now, Mr. Haines, if you feel that you have, to a certain extent,mastered your excitement, perhaps you will be so good as to tell mewhat is the meaning of your behaviour."

  "Nelly----"

  "To you, Mr. Haines, I am Mrs. Carruth."

  "Nelly, I say!"

  In proof of his saying it, he stretched out towards me his clenchedfist.

  "Even at Strikehigh City, I did not think you capable of insulting anunprotected woman."

  "I'm not insulting you."

  "If you think not, then your ideas of what an insult is must be yourown."

  He rubbed his hands slowly up and down his knees. He stared at me hard.He shook his head.

  "It's very hard; it's very hard. Between you and the girl, I'msuffering. The lines have fallen on me, and they're cutting right intomy vital places." He brought his hands down upon his knees with asudden thwack. "I asked you first, before even Daniel said a word toyou; I laid myself at your feet."

  "Was that my fault?"

  He looked at me in silence. Then he drew the back of his hand acrosshis brow.

  "No; it was not your fault. I'm not blaming you. It was to be. Some menare made for women's feet to spurn." He paused. "Mrs. Carruth--since itis to be--I mean you well."

  "Some people's meaning is very badly expressed."

  "That's me. That's me all through--yes, right along. I ask you again,Who is that man?"

  "Are you referring to the gentleman who has just been kind enough tocome and see me? That is Mr. Townsend."

  "Then Mr. Townsend is a thing of evil--he is!" He held up hisforefinger to me with a warning gesture. I did not interrupt. "When Icame near him I knew him for what he was. I saw right through. He is awhited sepulchre. I saw the blood gleaming on his hand. I could notstay where he was. I went outside, and stood on the corner of thestreet until I saw him go. And when I came back, I found that hispresence was still with the house."

  For my part I was glad that it was--if it was.

  "This sort of talk, coming from you, is very ridiculous. Has your ownlife been so pure that you should attempt to blacken another man'scharacter merely because he is my friend?"

  "Pure? No; no man's life is pure. We are born to evil like the sparksfly upwards. But there's a difference."

  "Pray, in what does the difference consist? I presume you have notforgotten that at least a portion of your record is known to me?"

  He shook his head with dogged insistence.

  "There is a difference. You know there is a difference. There's badones and
there's bad ones; and Mr. Townsend's the sort of creature thatno woman ought to have any truck with. He'll bite you if you do."

  I got up from my chair.

  "I am sorry this should have happened, Mr. Haines. I fear I shall haveto ask you to come and see me more seldom than you have been in thehabit of doing. I hope Mr. Townsend will be a frequent visitor. Itwould be pleasant neither for you nor for me for you to have to meethim, in my house, when you hold the opinions of him which you say youdo."

  He pressed his lips. He looked, if anything, sourer than ever.

  "So Mr. Townsend is going to be a frequent visitor, is he? And howabout Daniel?--and about me?"

  I laughed.

  "About you, Mr. Haines? I hope, Mr. Haines, that you will have a cup oftea."

  He had one. And did penance in having it. For he hated tea.

  And it was cold.