The Pit Town Coronet Volume Ii Part 17

On the very day that Mr. Parsons had left Matilda Street to proceed on business to the Swiss Cottage, one of these numerous pitched battles had taken place; the lady had been vanquished, and she, her maid, and her jewel-case had left for Brighton by the evening train. Lord Hetton sat alone and tried to do justice to a _recherche_ little dinner, but he failed, for Hetton was jealous and unhappy; and as he looked at the vacant chair opposite him, the triumphs of his undeniable cook turned to Dead Sea apples in his mouth, for, in his mind's eye, he saw the mistress of Azalea Lodge dining in solitary grandeur in the coffee-room of a fashionable Brighton hotel, the cynosure of many an admiring eye.

Lord Hetton did not enjoy his dinner.

These two unfortunate people, if the truth be told, really did love each other very sincerely. As has been said the lady was Lord Hetton's only friend; of this she had given him very tangible proof in the hour of his need, and on her part she owed everything she had in the world to his lordship; but each of the pair was haunted by a special terror--the lady by the fear that Lord Hetton might marry, his lordship by the dread that the lady might actually carry out her frequent threat that the next time she left him it would be never to return. Poor wretch, he would only have been too glad to have married her, but that outraged society would have been instantly vindicated by the stoppage of his allowance from the old earl.

Lord Hetton sat and meditated by his study fire. "By Jove!" thought he, "it would serve her right if I really did pay her off and married. I ought to, if it were only to keep out that fellow Haggard and his brats."

It was ten o'clock. Azalea Lodge was a well-regulated household. The parlourmaid placed the spirit stand upon the table, and asked his lordship if he had any further orders. Within half-an-hour the four women servants of Azalea Lodge were fast asleep, and the thick baize-covered door, which separated the servants' quarters from the rest of the house, was securely fastened. And now Lord Hetton sat down to his writing-table, and he wrote a letter to the solicitor of the mistress of Azalea Lodge. This was the letter, which was short and to the point:

"Azalea Lodge.

"SIR,

"I shall be glad if you will call upon me here, as I am desirous of washing my hands of your client and of all the a.s.sociations of this place.

"Yours faithfully, "HETTON."

Now Lord Hetton when he wrote this letter had not the slightest idea of carrying out the threat contained in it; it was merely his way of expressing his displeasure--the quickest means he knew of causing the return of the fugitive from the seaside. It was upon the lines of this letter that he composed a second epistle full of indignant recrimination, in which he announced that this, the last rupture, must be final. "I have long determined," he said, and he chuckled as he wrote the words, "to shake myself free from what was after all but a boyish infatuation at the commencement, an entanglement which I feel we both have been anxious to terminate for some time. Your solicitor will inform you that I have requested him to take the necessary steps." And as he folded the letter and placed it in its envelope he smiled. "She'll get it by the mid-day delivery to-morrow, if they post it the first thing in the morning, and she'll probably come back in a towering pa.s.sion by the four express. I wish she was here now," he continued with a sigh. Lord Hetton yawned, he looked at his watch, and then he stamped the letters and laid them out for posting, but circ.u.mstances intervened which caused those two letters not to leave Azalea Lodge.

Lord Hetton lighted his candle and went to bed. In half-an-hour he was sound asleep, and a dead silence reigned in Azalea Lodge. The crickets chirped merrily upon the hearth of the housemaid's pantry, where the remains of a fire still smouldered. But what is that monotonous grating sound which continues with mechanical regularity? It isn't a kettle boiling, though it sounds rather like it, for there is an occasional squeak and then the noise suddenly ceases altogether, only to recommence again.

Mr. Parsons on reaching the Swiss Cottage had walked straight to Azalea Lodge. He entered the front garden of the empty house next door to it, which was still in the hands of the workmen. He flung his three-p.r.o.nged hook over the high wall which separated Azalea Lodge from the empty house. Quickly, noiselessly, and without effort Mr. Parsons reached the top of the wall; then he removed the three-p.r.o.nged hook, fixed it on the near side of the wall, and descended by means of the friendly rope attached to it into the grounds of Azalea Lodge. He left the rope hanging, for the return journey might possibly have to be accomplished in a very hurried manner. When Mr. Parsons stood safely within the outer defences of the fortress which he had a.s.sailed he proceeded to deliberately remove his boots. The big list slippers which he put on were perfectly noiseless; they are the professional foot coverings common to the British thief and to the ghost of Hamlet's father. Then he walked straight to the pantry window, and shading his eyes with his hands, carefully took stock of the interior. Mr. Parsons lost no time; and, skilled mechanic that he was, commenced his work at once. Gripping his file firmly in both hands, and carefully lubricating its keen edge with oil, he commenced operations vigorously upon the ma.s.sive bar of soft iron, which with five others protected the pantry window; the bar was at least an inch in diameter and was quite seven feet long. It took Mr. Parsons a good twenty minutes' hard work to cut through, and beads of perspiration stood upon the brow of that clever operator long before the job was finished. Mr. Parsons replaced his files in their special receptacles in his many-pocketed coat, then he seized the ma.s.sive-looking bar just above where he had divided it, he placed a foot against the window-ledge and tugged with all his might. It's easy enough to bend a poker between the bars of a kitchen range; it is true that the kitchen poker is not an inch in diameter, but then neither is it seven feet long. Mr. Parsons wrenched away with a will, and soon the great bar was bent almost to a right angle. Mr. Parsons slipped a small palette knife between the sashes, but Azalea Lodge had been fitted up regardless of expense, and the window-catch was a patent one which resisted the efforts of Mr. Parsons; but that gentleman was equal to the occasion; he took out a piece of diachylon plaister, apparently from the small of his back, really from one of the numerous receptacles of his professional coat; he carefully affixed and smoothed the plaister over the top centre pane of the lower sash, and then he rapidly drew a glazier's diamond round the pane. Spreading his left hand out upon the middle of the plaister he struck a smart blow upon his fingers with his right fist; he had smashed the window, but without noise--there was no crash or rattle of falling gla.s.s. With deliberate care Mr. Parsons effected an opening in the broken window, in a workmanlike manner, large enough to admit his right hand, and then with a smile he gently opened Sharp's Patent Safety window-catch. Mr. Parsons now raised the window-sash with ease, and, taking his boots in his hand, effected his felonious entry, leaping lightly and noiselessly into the room. Mr. Parsons placed his boots in the fender to warm, for nothing is more unpleasant to a careful man than the putting on of cold boots. And now Mr. Parsons proceeded to carefully and deliberately wash his hands and to remove from them the grimy traces of his honest labour; then he lighted a short piece of candle--the match he used gave forth no warning sound. He examined the lock, the key was in the door, the projecting end of it he seized with a pair of peculiarly-made forceps, the key turned noiselessly and with ease. Mr.

Parsons ascended the kitchen stairs and proceeded straight to the dining-room, for he was no vulgar thief to whom the contents of the larder of Azalea Lodge would present attractions, but an industrious tradesman and a keen man of business.

Mr. Parsons was occupied for at least half-an-hour in the dining-room, for in the ma.s.sive oak sideboard he found a good deal of portable property; the patent locks soon yielded to his skilful attack, and the spoons and forks were rapidly packed by him into the smallest possible compa.s.s and placed in a bag of suitable size. But Mr. Parsons looked in vain for any sign of the racing plate which had attracted his attention upon his first visit to Azalea Lodge. He placed the bag containing the plunder upon the hall table, and then, his lighted end of candle in his hand, he ascended the stairs. When he reached the first floor he heard the regular breathing of the sleeping Lord Hetton; he carefully removed his lordship's boots from the mat and gently tried the door, blowing out his candle as he did so, for the landing was illuminated by a flicker of gas, and had his lordship awakened, the light would have betrayed the intruder. The burglar entered the room without noise, and the heavy breathing of the sleeper continued without intermission. Mr. Parsons looked around him; his eyes at once alighted on the object of his search; in a corner of the room stood a large safe of painted iron of the most recent construction--Chubbs' Patent Safety. Mr. Parsons was quite aware of what Chubbs' Patent Safety meant; he knew full well that a Chubbs' safe would successfully withstand his attempts for a period of twenty-four hours at least, and that picking the lock would be quite a hopeless matter. But Mr. Parsons did not despond; he knew that owners of safes generally keep the key upon their persons. He looked towards the sleeper; upon a small table at the bedside lay his heavy gold Frodsham chronograph, to the ma.s.sive chain of which was attached a long slender steel key. The burglar possessed himself of the watch and appendages, knelt down in front of the safe, which yielded to the key, and in a few moments the Toiler of the Night was busy with Lord Hetton's racing trophies. There they lay, the glittering, precious baubles, the prizes for which their owner had schemed ever since his early manhood, the useless cups, vases, &c., which had cost their fortunate proprietor far more than their weight in purest gold. The feelings of Mr. Parsons may be better imagined than described; they must have somewhat resembled those of Ali Baba when the treasures of the Forty Thieves first met his astonished eye. Is it to be wondered at then that Mr. Parsons lost his head for the moment, and that though his eyes were busily employed he forgot to use his ears; he forgot to note that Lord Hetton's breathing, which was a heavy snore when he entered the room, was now inaudible.

His lordship, who had been sleeping heavily, had not exactly awakened, though had he been addressed at the moment he would probably have answered coherently enough; the fact was that he had been sound asleep and dreaming a pleasant dream, and in a state of semi-consciousness he was trying to recall the delightful vision, but it was gone for ever, and he appealed to his memory in vain. Lying perfectly still on his back, his lordship half-opened his eyes, and they rested upon the top of Mr. Parsons' head, which exactly intervened between them and an object they were accustomed habitually to rest upon, namely, the bright gilded handle of the Chubbs' safe. But the sleepy eyes closed again, and reopening half mechanically sought the missing handle. Lord Hetton now opened his eyes widely enough, and almost thoroughly awake stared, without moving his head, in search of the accustomed object. He saw the top of the safe, but he failed to discern the gay lines of green paint and gilding which decorated the door; then it slowly dawned upon Lord Hetton's mind that he was no longer dreaming, or even dozing, but that he was almost wide awake, and that the door of his iron safe was open.

And then his lordship became seriously alarmed. Not that he was by any means a coward, but it is alarming to awaken from one's tranquil slumbers and to feel that one may have to fight for one's life and property against possible unknown odds, and without one's clothes. A man may feel very brave indeed with his boots on, but take away his clothes and it considerably reduces his courage. As Lord Hetton became gradually thoroughly wide awake, he grew alive to the fact, not only that the safe door was open, but that (what the Divorce Court calls) "a person unknown" was tampering with its contents. Now perhaps the most prudent thing that Lord Hetton could have done would have been to have gone to sleep again, but it never for one moment occurred to his mind to allow himself to be robbed with impunity. Thoroughly awake at last, Lord Hetton could with difficulty contain his rage, and it was only by a powerful exertion of his own will that he did restrain himself from rushing from his bed and attacking the intruder with his naked fists.

But, he reflected, the thief or thieves were probably armed; he remembered too that there was no a.s.sistance to be obtained in the house itself, and that there was no means of arousing the neighbourhood. And then Lord Hetton's mind, which was a cool one, came to a determination.

Very slowly indeed, and perfectly silently, Lord Hetton gradually stretched out his arm from the bed towards the little table upon which his watch had lain; but it was not upon the top of the table that his extended fingers attempted to grasp the object which they sought, but on a ledge several inches beneath. On that ledge lay a loaded six-chamber revolver. His lordship's fingers gradually closed upon the b.u.t.t of the weapon, gradually and noiselessly he raised it, and with his thumb he proceeded to c.o.c.k it.

There was an ominous click.

His lordship sprang from the bed, pistol in hand.

The man Parsons started to his feet with equal celerity, and the two men stood glaring at each other.

There was an appreciable instance of silence, and each of the adversaries could hear the loud beating of his own heart.

"You infernal villain, if you don't surrender, I'll blow your brains out," hissed his lordship.

The burglar made no reply, but placed his right hand in his bosom, and in an instant his keen cruel sheath knife was raised high above his head, and without a word, like an infuriated tiger, he rushed upon the sporting n.o.bleman.

Lord Hetton pulled the trigger, there was a sharp click, that was all.

His lordship swore a bitter oath, as it flashed through his mind that in his excitement of rage and indignation he had forgotten to withdraw the safety catch.

There was no time to do it now, for the burglar was upon him. Hetton struck the man furiously in the face with the b.u.t.t of the pistol, but the thief succeeded in avoiding the full force of the blow, and used his knife with murderous dexterity. The pistol dropped from his lordship's failing hand, each man had the other by the throat, and the thief continued to mercilessly hack and stab, for he knew that he was fighting for liberty, and even life. Gradually he forced his victim down upon the floor, he placed his knee upon his chest, and tightened his cruel grip upon the throat of the fallen man. They still glared at each other and struggled on in horrid silence, but gradually the convulsive clutch of Lord Hetton's fingers relaxed, the glare of rage and hate disappeared from his eyes, and its place was taken by a dull leaden stare. For Lord Hetton was dead.

But not for several minutes did the burglar relax his grip of the dead man's throat; and then it dawned upon him that he was a murderer, that in a few short hours justice would be upon his track; and he shuddered with mingled horror and remorse as he mechanically wiped the blade of his knife between his fingers, ere he returned it to its sheath.

The man Parsons had been cool and collected enough before, but now he trembled, and he hurried out upon the landing with anxiety, to listen if there was any movement in the house. The struggle had been fierce, but there had been no noise. The murderer was considerably rea.s.sured, as he marked the dead silence that reigned in the place, and then he turned again towards the door of the fatal bedroom. He hesitated to enter it, for the wretch, though full of brute courage, feared to look again upon the face of the victim he had done to death. But there was nothing else for it; he entered the room in fear and trepidation, he gathered up his plunder with a shaking hand, and carefully secured it in a Gladstone bag which lay in the dressing-room; on it were the initials of the master of Azalea Lodge. Last of all he thrust the watch and chain of the murdered man into his pocket; then he looked upon the ground and saw with horror the marks of his own guilty foot-prints in hideous red blurs upon the gay carpet. He removed his tell-tale felt slippers, and the bag in one hand, the slippers in the other, and holding the end of the bit of candle which he had re-lighted high above his head, he regained the hall. He carefully placed the little parcel which he had left upon the hall table in the bag, and stuffing a sheep's skin mat and the blood-stained slippers in as well, he succeeded in deadening the jangling noise made by the plate. He s.n.a.t.c.hed down an Inverness cape which hung in the hall and flung it over his arm, and on tiptoe he gained the housemaid's pantry in safety; he put on his boots and washed his blood-stained hands. Then he strode down the garden of Azalea Lodge, carrying in his hand the rope and three-p.r.o.nged hook by which he had entered the premises. He scaled several walls with cat-like celerity, and then secreted himself among the shrubs of the front garden of a house in a main road of St. John's Wood. From this hiding-place he saw with satisfaction the infrequent policeman pa.s.s on his nocturnal round; then he put on the Inverness cape, which gave him a rather distinguished appearance, and walked boldly forth, carrying his Gladstone bag. He hailed the first hansom he met and drove to Charing Cross; there he took another cab to Matilda Street. He dismissed the man at the corner, and reached his lair.

Here the man Parsons disappears from our story. Early dawn saw him on board the Antwerp boat, and he reached the Continent in safety. No doubt he had his reward, in this world or the next.

And so Lord Hetton died, unlamented save by his lonely old father at Walls End Castle and by the woman who firmly believed that the very last determination of his life had been to cast her off as a worn-out garment and to "wash his hands" of her for ever. Save to these two persons, and to those who had had the misfortune to back Lord Hetton's nomination for the coming Derby, his death made no difference to anybody. We have forgotten Reginald Haggard; he, lucky fellow, of course benefited, for it brought him one step nearer to the Pit Town t.i.tle.

It was after all but a vulgar tragedy, though it made considerable noise at the time.

When, in the early morning, the housemaid at Azalea Lodge found her pantry door unlocked, she was alarmed; and when she saw that the window was open and that one of the protecting iron bars had been wrenched aside, she very nearly fainted. In her tribulation she hurried to her fellow servants and informed them of her startling discovery. The four women were terribly frightened, and it was only after a considerable amount of persuasion that the cook consented to put on her bonnet and go in search of the police. While she was absent the three other women fortified themselves in the kitchen and awaited her return in fear and trembling. Constable Bulger, 130 D, was soon upon the scene; he examined the pantry window from the outside, he looked very wisely indeed at the foot-prints in the soft gravel path, and directed that they should remain undisturbed; and then he entered the house and proceeded to interrogate the servants.

"Anything missing, ladies?" he said.

No, nothing was missing in the bas.e.m.e.nt, and the policeman and the frightened maids ascended to the hall, where the parlourmaid instantly detected the absence of the Inverness cape.

"There's more gone than that, miss," said Constable Bulger. "They don't effect a forcible entry now-a-days for the sake of a coat or two; we'd better look in the dining-room."

The parlourmaid flung open the shutters and drew up the blinds, letting in the bright sunshine. As the girl turned from the window she gave a succession of eldritch screams and went off into violent hysterics; for she saw that the doors of the ma.s.sive sideboard were standing wide open and that the empty plate-basket lay upon the floor. Constable Bulger was perfectly satisfied in his own mind that the parlourmaid, at all events, had had nothing to do with the burglary which had evidently been committed. For portly 130 D prided himself, and perhaps with some justice, on his intimate knowledge of the ways of women. He knew perfectly well that the dreadful laugh was not simulated, and he was quite aware of the appropriate remedies.

"Let her lie flat on the floor, ma'am," he said to the cook, "and just you run for a little water, miss, and be spry," was his command to the frightened housemaid, who, pale as ashes, was standing in the doorway.

"Is his lordship at home?" said Bulger. "I'd better see him at once.

Just run up and say I am here," added he.

But not one of the women stirred; all three redoubled their a.s.siduities to the recovering parlourmaid, but each firmly declined to quit the dining-room, on the ground that "it wasn't a woman's place."

"Just keep your eye on the roadway, one of you," said the constable, "the sergeant'll be pa.s.sing directly, and if you see him you'd better call to him."

And then Constable Bulger undid the b.u.t.ton of his truncheon case, not that he expected to find any one on the premises, but it was as well to be prepared for the worst, and he then ascended the stairs. One of the bedroom doors was wide open, and a horrid sight met his astonished eyes.

On the floor lay the murdered master of Azalea Lodge. The face looked like a waxen mask; the lips were bloodless and of an ashen grey, slightly parted, leaving the regular teeth of the dead man painfully apparent. The eyes were wide open and had a terror-stricken look; but the hands were clenched. The dead man lay in a pool of blood, with which his white nightdress was stained in many places.

The constable drew his truncheon, looked under the bed and into the dressing-room; a glance at the open safe told him that it had been rifled. Then, without in the slightest degree disturbing the dead man or his surroundings, the constable left the room, locking the door and placing the key in his pocket. He made a perfunctory search through the rest of the house, though he knew full well that the murderer had fled; and as he descended the stairs and rejoined the frightened women, his sergeant, whom the cook had hailed from the dining-room window, appeared upon the scene.

In a whisper Bulger communicated to him what had taken place; but while he was yet speaking shrieks and cries were heard from the dining-room.

Both men hurriedly entered it. The parlourmaid, mad with terror, was struggling with the other women.

"They have murdered him," she shrieked. "Oh G.o.d! they have murdered him," she reiterated, as she pointed to a great pink stain upon the ceiling.

There was no need to break to them the dreadful news now. The girl continued to shriek and point at the awful stain for some minutes, and then went off in a dead faint.

All that morning a little crowd stopped to whisper and point at Azalea Lodge. In vain a special policeman entreated them to move on; they merely pa.s.sed over to the other side to point and whisper in mingled excitement and curiosity. The red-coated newsvendors did a thriving trade in the neighbourhood on that day.

"Special edition. Frightful murder of a n.o.bleman by burglars. Flight of the murderers. Further horrible details." The red-coated men's harvest was a precarious one, and they made the most of it; they even succeeded in selling some of their papers at a shilling a-piece. But the purchasers were disappointed, for though the newspaper reporters had swelled their description of what they called "The Tragedy in High Life in St. John's Wood," into two columns of leaded type, yet nothing more was to be gained from it all than that the heir to the Pit Town t.i.tle had been brutally murdered by a midnight thief, that the a.s.sa.s.sin had escaped with his plunder, and as yet had succeeded in baffling the efforts of the police.

Ere nightfall every police station in the metropolis displayed a hand-bill headed by the startling word "MURDER," in big black letters, and offering a reward for the apprehension of a man wearing an Inverness cape and carrying a Gladstone bag. For days the police stations were besieged by anxious informers, desirous to give information about men with Gladstone bags and Inverness capes. Both cabmen came forward, and the murderer was traced as far as Matilda Street, but here the scent failed utterly; and though the old lord offered a further and larger reward, and smug-looking men, in slop clothes and billyc.o.c.k hats, hung about Matilda Street at all hours of the day and night, yet they failed to come upon any trace of Lord Hetton's murderer.

Twelve good men and true, his lordship's butcher, baker and candlestick maker and nine others of the same kidney, found a verdict of "Wilful Murder;" and two days after the inquest the body of the unhappy n.o.bleman was conveyed to Walls End Castle and interred with due pomp in the family vault. The old lord, Mr. Haggard of the Home Office and Reginald Haggard, followed it to the grave.

Mr. Haggard had had a rather painful interview with a lady dressed in deep mourning in the dining-room of Azalea Lodge, on the morning of the removal of his lordship's body. The lady's grief was evidently unfeigned. When Mr. Haggard had informed her that the dead man had left her all he had to give, she was in no way consoled, and merely continued to sob and wring her hands in the bitterness of her grief.

A fortnight afterwards Azalea Lodge was in the hands of an auctioneer.