The Beetle Part 60

'Why do you ask?'

'I beg your pardon, sir, but I saw a Harab myself about a hour ago,-leastways he looked like as if he was a Harab.'

'What sort of a looking person was he?'

'I can't 'ardly tell you that, sir, because I didn't never have a proper look at him,-but I know he had a bloomin' great bundle on 'is 'ead. ... It was like this, 'ere. I was comin' round the corner, as he was pa.s.sin', I never see 'im till I was right atop of 'im, so that I haccidentally run agin 'im,-my heye! didn't 'e give me a downer! I was down on the back of my 'ead in the middle of the road before I knew where I was and 'e was at the other end of the street. If 'e 'adn't knocked me more'n 'arf silly I'd been after 'im, sharp,-I tell you! and hasked 'im what 'e thought 'e was a-doin' of, but afore my senses was back agin 'e was out o' sight,-clean!'

'You are sure he had a bundle on his head?'

'I noticed it most particular.'

'How long ago do you say this was? and where?'

'About a hour ago,-perhaps more, perhaps less.'

'Was he alone?'

'It seemed to me as if a cove was a follerin' 'im, leastways there was a bloke as was a-keepin' close at 'is 'eels,-though I don't know what 'is little game was, I'm sure. Ask the pleesman-he knows, he knows everything the pleesman do.'

I turned to the 'pleesman.'

'Who is this man?'

The 'pleesman' put his hands behind his back, and threw out his chest. His manner was distinctly affable.

'Well,-he's being detained upon suspicion. He's given us an address at which to make inquiries, and inquiries are being made.

I shouldn't pay too much attention to what he says if I were you.

I don't suppose he'd be particular about a lie or two.'

This frank expression of opinion re-aroused the indignation of the gentleman on the form.

'There you hare! at it again! That's just like you peelers,- you're all the same! What do you know about me?-Nuffink! This gen'leman ain't got no call to believe me, not as I knows on,- it's all the same to me if 'e do or don't, but it's trewth what I'm sayin', all the same.'

At this point the Inspector re-appeared at the pigeon-hole. He cut short the flow of eloquence.

'Now then, not so much noise outside there!' He addressed me. 'None of our men have seen anything of the person you're inquiring for, so far as we're aware. But, if you like, I will place a man at your disposal, and he will go round with you, and you will be able to make your own inquiries.'

A capless, wildly excited young ragam.u.f.fin came dashing in at the street door. He gasped out, as clearly as he could for the speed which he had made:

'There's been murder done, Mr Pleesman,-a Harab's killed a bloke.'

'Mr Pleesman' gripped him by the shoulder.

'What's that?'

The youngster put up his arm, and ducked his head, instinctively, as if to ward off a blow.

'Leave me alone! I don't want none of your 'andling!-I ain't done nuffink to you! I tell you 'e 'as!'

The Inspector spoke through the pigeon-hole.

'He has what, my lad? What do you say has happened?'

'There's been murder done-it's right enough!-there 'as!-up at Mrs 'Enderson's, in Paradise Place,-a Harab's been and killed a bloke!'

CHAPTER XLIV

THE MAN WHO WAS MURDERED

The Inspector spoke to me.

'If what the boy says is correct it sounds as if the person whom you are seeking may have had a finger in the pie.'

I was of the same opinion, as, apparently, were Lessingham and Sidney. Atherton collared the youth by the shoulder which Mr Pleesman had left disengaged.

'What sort of looking bloke is it who's been murdered?'

'I dunno! I 'aven't seen 'im! Mrs 'Enderson, she says to me! "'Gustus Barley," she says, "a bloke's been murdered. That there Harab what I chucked out 'alf a hour ago been and murdered 'im, and left 'im behind up in my back room. You run as 'ard as you can tear and tell them there dratted pleese what's so fond of shovin' their dirty noses into respectable people's 'ouses." So I comes and tells yer. That's all I knows about it.'

We went four in the hansom which had been waiting in the street to Mrs Henderson's in Paradise Place,-the Inspector and we three.

'Mr Pleesman' and "Gustus Barley' followed on foot. The Inspector was explanatory.

'Mrs Henderson keeps a sort of lodging-house,-a "Sailors' Home" she calls it, but no one could call it sweet. It doesn't bear the best of characters, and if you asked me what I thought of it, I should say in plain English that it was a disorderly house.'

Paradise Place proved to be within three or four hundred yards of the Station House. So far as could be seen in the dark it consisted of a row of houses of considerable dimensions,-and also of considerable antiquity. They opened on to two or three stone steps which led directly into the street. At one of the doors stood an old lady with a shawl drawn over her head. This was Mrs Henderson. She greeted us with garrulous volubility.

'So you 'ave come, 'ave you? I thought you never was a-comin' that I did.' She recognised the Inspector. 'It's you, Mr Phillips, is it?' Perceiving us, she drew a little back 'Who's them 'ere parties? They ain't coppers?'

Mr Phillips dismissed her inquiry, curtly.

'Never you mind who they are. What's this about someone being murdered.'

'Ssh!' The old lady glanced round. 'Don't you speak so loud, Mr Phillips. No one don't know nothing about it as yet. The parties what's in my 'ouse is most respectable,-most! and they couldn't abide the notion of there being police about the place.'

'We quite believe that, Mrs Henderson.'

The Inspector's tone was grim.

Mrs Henderson led the way up a staircase which would have been distinctly the better for repairs. It was necessary to pick one's way as one went, and as the light was defective stumbles were not infrequent.

Our guide paused outside a door on the topmost landing. From some mysterious recess in her apparel she produced a key.

'It's in 'ere. I locked the door so that nothing mightn't be disturbed. I knows 'ow particular you pleesmen is.'

She turned the key. We all went in-we, this time, in front, and she behind.

A candle was guttering on a broken and dilapidated single washhand stand. A small iron bedstead stood by its side, the clothes on which were all tumbled and tossed. There was a rush-seated chair with a hole in the seat,-and that, with the exception of one or two chipped pieces of stoneware, and a small round mirror which was hung on a nail against the wall, seemed to be all that the room contained. I could see nothing in the shape of a murdered man. Nor, it appeared, could the Inspector either.