The strange case of Dr Hockey & Mr Neil
By Jerry Chan
Chapter 5 - Visit Mr Neil's house
It was by this time about nine in the morning and the first fog of the season. A great chocolate-coloured pall lowered over heaven, but the wind was continually charging and routing these embattled vapours; so that as the cab crawled from street to street, Mr Bettini beheld a marvellous number of degrees and hues of twilight; for here it would be dark like the back-end of the evening; and there would be a glow of a rich, lurid brown, like the light of some strange conflagration; and here, for a moment, the fog would be quite broken up, and a haggard shaft of daylight would glance in between the swirling wreaths. The dismal quarter of Soho seen under these changing glimpses, with its muddy ways, and slatternly passengers, and its lamps, which had never been extinguished or had been kindled afresh to combat this mournful re-invasion of darkness, seemed, in the teacher’s eyes, like a district of some city in a nightmare. The thoughts of his mind, besides, were of the gloomiest dye; and when he glanced at the companion of his drive, he was conscious of some touch of that terror of the law and the law’s officers, which may at times assail the most honest.
As the cab drew up before the address indicated, the fog lifted a little and showed him a dingy street, a gin palace, a low French eating-house, a shop for the retail of penny numbers and twopenny salads, many ragged children huddled in the doorways, and many women of different nationalities passing out, key in hand, to have a morning glass; and the next moment the fog settled down again upon that part, as brown as umber, and cut him off from his blackguardly surroundings. This was the home of Harry Hockey’s favourite, of a man who was heir to a quarter of a million sterling. Then the little and creepy trails appeared.
"Well sir, don't tell me that his house was lying on this trail. It could not be a place for humans to live." The policeman said, swallowed with a bad-cloud coloured face.
"you are incorrect, his house is here exactly, I don't know why." the teacher replied.
"Ah! I wish I had not come with you." The policeman said, walking into the trail. The teacher followed behind him, thinking about the strange
will of Dr Hockey. Meanwhile, they reached the house. The policeman pressed the doorbell. Mr Bettini couldn't forget the scary mirror and worried would the mirror appeared again.
Luckily, an ivory-faced and silvery-haired old woman opened the door. She had an evil face, smoothed by hypocrisy; but her manners were excellent. Yes, she said, this was Mr Neil’s, but he was not at home; he had been in that night very late, but had gone away again in less than an hour; there was nothing strange in that; his habits were very irregular, and he was often absent; for instance, it was nearly two months since she had seen him till yesterday.
“Very well, then, we wish to see his rooms,” said the teacher; and when the woman began to declare it was impossible, “I had better tell you who this person is,” he added. “This is Inspector Newcomen of Scotland Yard.”
A flash of odious joy appeared upon the woman’s face. “Ah!” said she, “he is in trouble! What has he done?”
Mr Bettini and the inspector exchanged glances. “He doesn’t seem a very popular character,” observed the latter. “And now, my good woman, just let me and this gentleman have a look about us.”
In the whole extent of the house, which but for the old woman remained otherwise empty, Mr Neil had only used a couple of rooms; but these were furnished with luxury and good taste. A closet was filled with wine; the plate was of silver, the napery elegant; a good picture hung upon the walls, a gift (as Bettini supposed) from Henry Hockey, who was much of a connoisseur; and the carpets were of many plies and agreeable in colour. At this moment, however, the rooms bore every mark of having been recently and hurriedly ransacked; clothes lay about the floor, with their pockets inside out, lock-fast drawers stood open; and on the hearth there lay a pile of grey ashes, as though many papers had been burned. From these embers, the inspector disinterred the butt-end of a green chequebook, which had resisted the action of the fire, the other half of the stick was found behind the door. and as this clinched his suspicions, the officer declared himself delighted. A visit to the bank, where several thousand pounds were found to be lying to the murderer’s credit, completed his gratification.
“You may depend upon it, sir,” he told Mr Bettini, “I have him in my hand. He must have lost his head, or he never would have left the stick or, above all, burned the chequebook. Why money’s life to the man. We have nothing to do but wait for him at the bank, and get out the handbills.”
This last, however, was not so easy of accomplishment, for Mr Neil had numbered few familiars — even the master of the servant-maid had only seen him twice; his family could nowhere be traced; he had never been photographed; and the few who could describe him differed widely, as common observers will. Only on one point, they agreed; and that was the haunting sense of unexpressed deformity with which the fugitive impressed his beholders.
留言
發佈留言
Leave your comments...