Submarine U93 Part 17

So saying, the little captain stepped across the street, and rang the bell of Number 758, Edgware Road.

They did not have to wait long before the door was opened by an old woman with a shawl about her shoulders, who asked who they were in an exceedingly squeaky voice.

"Are you Mr. Russell?" she piped, the moment she set eyes upon Captain Crouch.

Crouch thought for a moment before he answered.

"I won't say I'm not," said he; "on the other hand, I won't go so far as to say I am. The main question is, who are you?"

"I'm Mrs. Wycherley," said the old woman, "her that looks after the flat. And if you're Mr. Russell, the rooms are well aired and the fires was a-lighted this morning."

"Ha!" said Crouch. "That's just as it should be. I and my friend will go upstairs."

At that, without a moment's hesitation, he brushed past the old woman and ascended the stairs to the first floor, whither Mrs. Wycherley followed him, muttering a great deal to herself on the subject of "the rheumatics."

"Where's the key?" demanded Crouch.

There was an air of self-a.s.surance about him that would have deceived a Russian diplomat, to say nothing of a London charwoman of about seventy years of age. Mrs. Wycherley, producing the key, flung open the door of one of the first-floor flats and ushered in both Jimmy Burke and Captain Crouch.

They found themselves in a small self-contained flat, consisting of three rooms and a kitchen. These rooms were not only tastefully, but even expensively, furnished; whereas the kitchen was complete as far as furniture and cooking utensils were concerned.

Crouch had a good look round, and then, producing his blackened briar pipe, seated himself in the most comfortable armchair in the dining-room, and proceeded to smoke at his leisure. Both Jimmy and the charwoman remained standing.

"There are a few points," said Crouch, fixing the old lady with the mouthpiece of his pipe, in much the same way as a man would point a pistol, "there are one or two things I would like to know."

"Begging your pardon, sir," said the woman, "if you're a friend of Mr.

Russell's, and Mr. Russell knows you're here, well and good. But if you ain't, might I make so free as to ask your business, because my daughter, Emily Jane, lies a-dying, and that's as true as I'm standing here, and it's no time for me to be gossiping with gents with white hats, nor black neither."

She had spoken exceedingly fast, from time to time lifting her voice to a higher key, until at last she pulled up short, apparently for want of breath, having reached the topmost note she was capable of producing.

"Mum," said Crouch, "don't you get fidgety. I'm an honest man, though a dog-breeder by profession. As for Russell, he knows me well enough, or he was never a ship's carpenter that cut off in a dinghy with the ship's cook and the cook's mate. So you may set your mind at rest."

Old Mrs. Wycherley, who had not the least idea as to what Crouch was talking about, folded her arms, and nodded her head as in approval.

"If you're a friend of Mr. Russell's," said she, "I'm sure it's all right. Perhaps you don't know, sir, that I'm expecting him here this evening."

"Is that so?" said Crouch. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Maybe you'll stay," said the old woman, "until Mr. Russell arrives?"

"I will that," said Crouch, feeling in his coat pocket for his revolver.

Then, in a changed voice, he remarked, "These are fairly comfortable rooms."

"Comfortable!" exclaimed the old woman. "Fit for a king, I calls them.

And that clean you could eat your dinner off of the carpet, as no one knows better than me who've worked day and night as I'm a living woman."

"When did Mr. Russell leave?" asked Crouch.

"Leave! Why he ain't never come since the flat was took."

"And when was that?"

"On the fourth of August, sir. My memory ain't of the best, and I only recollect the date because it was on that day, sir, that this here 'orrible war broke out. The fourth of August was the date, or I ain't never been married, which I've lived to repent ever since the very moment the ring was put on me finger."

Crouch sat silent for a moment, mersed in thought, filling the room with clouds of his evil-smelling tobacco smoke.

"How is it," he asked at length, "that none of the other flats in the building have been taken?"

"There's no knowing," said the old woman. "But the fact is, that since August no one, saving yourself, ain't been near the place."

Crouch drew a whistle and looked across at Jimmy; then, once more, he turned to Mrs. Wycherley.

"And what about Emily Jane?" he asked.

"She was took bad three weeks ago, and ain't left her bed for a fortnight. And it's my solemn belief as all her blood's turned to water."

Whereupon, as the old woman showed signs of tears, Crouch thought it advisable to change the subject; which he did with great dexterity.

"How do you know," he asked, "that Mr. Russell arrives this evening?"

"Because Mr. Valentine rung me up on the telegraph, and said as I was to have the rooms ready by eight o'clock this evening."

"And who is Mr. Valentine?"

"Don't know no more than you, sir, except that he's the gent what took the rooms in August, as I'm a-telling you."

"Well, then," said Crouch, "I don't think you need trouble to stay. You can go back to Emily Jane. I and my friend will remain here until Mr.

Russell arrives. We'll keep the fire alight, and make ourselves at home."

Mrs. Wycherley, who a moment since had been on the verge of tears, gathered her shawl about her shoulders, and beamed upon Captain Crouch.

"And it may be," said the little captain, "that Emily Jane will be none the worse for a few comforts, such as beef-tea and a jelly. On your way home, you might be able to get her something with that."

So saying, he banged down a sovereign on the table, which Mrs. Wycherley was not slow to accept.

"Then with your permission," said she, "I think I'll just be stepping round."

With that, and with a curtsey, she was off, with much more alacrity than she had shown before.

CHAPTER XVIII--"Mr. Russell"

Left alone with Jimmy, Crouch solemnly refilled his pipe.

"The moment I first set eyes on her," he observed, "I summed that old woman up. Emily Jane's a hoax."