A NARROW ESCAPE

I felt that night an unusual desire to take all possible precautions before leaving the Milan for Bermondsey.  I wrote a letter explaining my visit and my suspicions, and placed it in Ashley’s hands.

“Look here, Ashley,” I said, “I am going off on an errand which I don’t feel quite comfortable about.  Between you and me, it is connected with the disappearance of Miss Delora’s uncle.  I feel that it is likely, even probable, that I shall get into trouble, and I want you to promise me this.  If I am not back here by half-past eleven, I want you to take this letter, which contains a full statement of everything, to Scotland Yard.  Either take it yourself,” I continued, “or send some one absolutely trustworthy with it.”

The man looked a little serious.

“Very good, sir,” he said.  “I’ll attend to it.  At the same time, if I might make the suggestion, I should take a couple of plain-clothes policemen with me.  It’s a pretty low part where you are going, and one hears of queer doings, nowadays.”

“I am bound to go, Ashley,” I answered, “but I am not likely to come to much grief.  I have a revolver in my pocket, and I have not studied boxing with Baxter for nothing.  I don’t fancy there’s anything in Bermondsey going to hurt me.”

“I hope not, sir,” Ashley answered civilly.  “At half-past eleven, if I do not hear from you, I shall go myself to Scotland Yard.”

I nodded.

“And in the meantime,” I said, “a taxicab, if you please.”

I drove to the address given me on the paper.  It was an odd, half-forgotten street, terminating in a cul-de-sac, and not far from the river.  The few houses it contained were larger than the majority of those in the neighborhood, but were in a shocking state of repair.  The one at which I eventually stopped had a timber yard adjoining, or rather attached to it.  I left the taxicab outside, and made my somewhat uncertain way up to the front door.  Only a few yards from me a great black dog was straining at his collar and barking furiously.  I was somewhat relieved when the door was opened immediately at my knock.

“Is Mr. Hoffmeyer staying here?” I asked.

A little old man carrying a tallow candle stuck into a cheap candlestick nodded assent, and closed the door after me.  I noticed, without any particular pleasure, that he also drew the bolts.

“What do you do that for?” I asked sharply.  “I shall only be here a few minutes.  It is not worth while locking up.”

The man looked at me but said nothing.  He seemed to show neither any desire nor any ability for speech.  Only as I repeated my question he nodded slowly as one who barely understands.

“Mr. Hoffmeyer is in his room,” he said.  “He will be glad to see you.”

I followed him along as miserable a passage as ever I saw in my life.  The walls were damp, and the paper hung down here and there in long, untidy patches.  The ceiling was barely whitewashed; the stairs by which we passed were uncarpeted.  The whole place had a most dejected and weary appearance.  Then he showed me into a small sitting-room, in which one man sat writing at a table.  He looked up as I entered.  It was Delora.