Books: In the Fog
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Richard Harding Davis >> In the Fog
"As we advanced, he noticed that the front door was standing open, and
with an exclamation of surprise, hastened toward it and closed it.
Then he rapped twice on the door of what was apparently the
drawing-room. There was no reply to his knock, and he tapped again,
and then timidly, and cringing subserviently, opened the door and
stepped inside. He withdrew himself at once and stared stupidly at me,
shaking his head.
"'She is not there,' he said. He stood for a moment gazing blankly
through the open door, and then hastened toward the dining-room. The
solitary candle which still burned there seemed to assure him that the
room also was empty. He came back and bowed me toward the
drawing-room. 'She is above,' he said; 'I will inform the Princess of
the Excellency's presence.'
"Before I could stop him he had turned and was running up the
staircase, leaving me alone at the open door of the drawing-room. I
decided that the adventure had gone quite far enough, and if I had
been able to explain to the Russian that I had lost my way in the fog,
and only wanted to get back into the street again, I would have left
the house on the instant.
"Of course, when I first rang the bell of the house I had no other
expectation than that it would be answered by a parlor-maid who would
direct me on my way. I certainly could not then foresee that I would
disturb a Russian princess in her boudoir, or that I might be thrown
out by her athletic bodyguard. Still, I thought I ought not now to
leave the house without making some apology, and, if the worst should
come, I could show my card. They could hardly believe that a member of
an Embassy had any designs upon the hat-rack.
"The room in which I stood was dimly lighted, but I could see that,
like the hall, it was hung with heavy Persian rugs. The corners were
filled with palms, and there was the unmistakable odor in the air of
Russian cigarettes, and strange, dry scents that carried me back to
the bazaars of Vladivostock. Near the front windows was a grand piano,
and at the other end of the room a heavily carved screen of some black
wood, picked out with ivory. The screen was overhung with a canopy of
silken draperies, and formed a sort of alcove. In front of the alcove
was spread the white skin of a polar bear, and set on that was one of
those low Turkish coffee tables. It held a lighted spirit-lamp and two
gold coffee cups. I had heard no movement from above stairs, and it
must have been fully three minutes that I stood waiting, noting these
details of the room and wondering at the delay, and at the strange
silence.
"And then, suddenly, as my eye grew more used to the half-light, I
saw, projecting from behind the screen as though it were stretched
along the back of a divan, the hand of a man and the lower part of his
arm. I was as startled as though I had come across a footprint on a
deserted island. Evidently the man had been sitting there since I had
come into the room, even since I had entered the house, and he had
heard the servant knocking upon the door. Why he had not declared
himself I could not understand, but I supposed that possibly he was a
guest, with no reason to interest himself in the Princess's other
visitors, or perhaps, for some reason, he did not wish to be observed.
I could see nothing of him except his hand, but I had an unpleasant
feeling that he had been peering at me through the carving in the
screen, and that he still was doing so. I moved my feet noisily on the
floor and said tentatively, 'I beg your pardon.'
"There was no reply, and the hand did not stir. Apparently the man was
bent upon ignoring me, but as all I wished was to apologize for my
intrusion and to leave the house, I walked up to the alcove and peered
around it. Inside the screen was a divan piled with cushions, and on
the end of it nearer me the man was sitting. He was a young Englishman
with light yellow hair and a deeply bronzed face.
"He was seated with his arms stretched out along the back of the divan,
and with his head resting against a cushion. His attitude was one of
complete ease. But his mouth had fallen open, and his eyes were set
with an expression of utter horror. At the first glance I saw that he
was quite dead.
"For a flash of time I was too startled to act, but in the same flash
I was convinced that the man had met his death from no accident, that
he had not died through any ordinary failure of the laws of nature.
The expression on his face was much too terrible to be misinterpreted.
It spoke as eloquently as words. It told me that before the end had
come he had watched his death approach and threaten him.
"I was so sure he had been murdered that I instinctively looked on the
floor for the weapon, and, at the same moment, out of concern for my
own safety, quickly behind me; but the silence of the house continued
unbroken.
"I have seen a great number of dead men; I was on the Asiatic Station
during the Japanese-Chinese war. I was in Port Arthur after the
massacre. So a dead man, for the single reason that he is dead, does
not repel me, and, though I knew that there was no hope that this man
was alive, still for decency's sake, I felt his pulse, and while I
kept my ears alert for any sound from the floors above me, I pulled
open his shirt and placed my hand upon his heart. My fingers instantly
touched upon the opening of a wound, and as I withdrew them I found
them wet with ^ blood. He was in evening dress, and in the wide bosom
of his shirt I found a narrow slit, so narrow that in the dim light it
was scarcely discernable. The wound was no wider than the smallest
blade of a pocket-knife, but when I stripped the shirt away from the
chest and left it bare, I found that the weapon, narrow as it was, had
been long enough to reach his heart. There is no need to tell you how
I felt as I stood by the body of this boy, for he was hardly older
than a boy, or of the thoughts that came into my head. I was bitterly
sorry for this stranger, bitterly indignant at his murderer, and, at
the same time, selfishly concerned for my own safety and for the
notoriety which I saw was sure to follow. My instinct was to leave the
body where it lay, and to hide myself in the fog, but I also felt that
since a succession of accidents had made me the only witness to a
crime, my duty was to make myself a good witness and to assist to
establish the facts of this murder.
"That it might possibly be a suicide, and not a murder, did not
disturb me for a moment. The fact that the weapon had disappeared, and
the expression on the boy's face were enough to convince, at least me,
that he had had no hand in his own death. I judged it, therefore, of
the first importance to discover who was in the house, or, if they had
escaped from it, who had been in the house before I entered it. I had
seen one man leave it; but all I could tell of him was that he was a
young man, that he was in evening dress, and that he had fled in such
haste that he had not stopped to close the door behind him.
"The Russian servant I had found apparently asleep, and, unless he
acted a part with supreme skill, he was a stupid and ignorant boor,
and as innocent of the murder as myself. There was still the Russian
princess whom he had expected to find, or had pretended to expect to
find, in the same room with the murdered man. I judged that she must
now be either upstairs with the servant, or that she had, without his
knowledge, already fled from the house. When I recalled his apparently
genuine surprise at not finding her in the drawing-room, this latter
supposition seemed the more probable. Nevertheless, I decided that it
was my duty to make a search, and after a second hurried look for the
weapon among the cushions of the divan, and upon the floor, I
cautiously crossed the hall and entered the dining-room.
"The single candle was still flickering in the draught, and showed
only the white cloth. The rest of the room was draped in shadows. I
picked up the candle, and, lifting it high above my head, moved around
the corner of the table. Either my nerves were on such a stretch that
no shock could strain them further, or my mind was inoculated to
horrors, for I did not cry out at what I saw nor retreat from it.
Immediately at my feet was the body of a beautiful woman, lying at
full length upon the floor, her arms flung out on either side of her,
and her white face and shoulders gleaming dully in the unsteady light
of the candle. Around her throat was a great chain of diamonds, and
the light played upon these and made them flash and blaze in tiny
flames. But the woman who wore them was dead, and I was so certain as
to how she had died that without an instant's hesitation I dropped on
my knees beside her and placed my hands above her heart. My fingers
again touched the thin slit of a wound. I had no doubt in my mind but
that this was the Russian princess, and when I lowered the candle to
her face I was assured that this was so. Her features showed the
finest lines of both the Slav and the Jewess; the eyes were black, the
hair blue-black and wonderfully heavy, and her skin, even in death,
was rich in color. She was a surpassingly beautiful woman.
"I rose and tried to light another candle with the one I held, but I
found that my hand was so unsteady that I could not keep the wicks
together. It was my intention to again search for this strange dagger
which had been used to kill both the English boy and the beautiful
princess, but before I could light the second candle I heard footsteps
descending the stairs, and the Russian servant appeared in the
doorway.
"My face was in darkness, or I am sure that at the sight of it he
would have taken alarm, for at that moment I was not sure but that
this man himself was the murderer. His own face was plainly visible to
me in the light from the hall, and I could see that it wore an
expression of dull bewilderment. I stepped quickly toward him and took
a firm hold upon his wrist.
"'She is not there,' he said. 'The Princess has gone. They have all
gone.'
"'Who have gone?' I demanded. 'Who else has been here?'
"'The two Englishmen,' he said.
"'What two Englishmen?' I demanded. 'What are their names?'
"The man now saw by my manner that some question of great moment hung
upon his answer, and he began to protest that he did not know the
names of the visitors and that until that evening he had never seen
them.
"I guessed that it was my tone which frightened him, so I took my hand
off his wrist and spoke less eagerly.
"'How long have they been here?' I asked, 'and when did they go?'
"He pointed behind him toward the drawing-room.
"'One sat there with the Princess,' he said; 'the other came after I
had placed the coffee in the drawing-room. The two Englishmen talked
together and the Princess returned here to the table. She sat there in
that chair, and I brought her cognac and cigarettes. Then I sat
outside upon the bench. It was a feast day, and I had been drinking.
Pardon, Excellency, but I fell asleep. When I woke, your Excellency
was standing by me, but the Princess and the two Englishmen had gone.
That is all I know.'
"I believed that the man was telling me the truth. His fright had
passed, and he was now apparently puzzled, but not alarmed.
"'You must remember the names of the Englishmen,' I urged. 'Try to
think. When you announced them to the Princess what name did you give?'
"At this question he exclaimed with pleasure, and, beckoning to me,
ran hurriedly down the hall and into the drawing-room. In the corner
furthest from the screen was the piano, and on it was a silver tray.
He picked this up and, smiling with pride at his own intelligence,
pointed at two cards that lay upon it. I took them up and read the
names engraved upon them."
The American paused abruptly, and glanced at the faces about him. "I
read the names," he repeated. He spoke with great reluctance.
"Continue!" cried the Baronet, sharply.
"I read the names," said the American with evident distaste, "and the
family name of each was the same. They were the names of two brothers.
One is well known to you. It is that of the African explorer of whom
this gentleman was just speaking. I mean the Earl of Chetney. The
other was the name of his brother, Lord Arthur Chetney."
The men at the table fell back as though a trapdoor had fallen open at
their feet.
"Lord Chetney!" they exclaimed in chorus. They glanced at each other
and back to the American with every expression of concern and
disbelief.
"It is impossible!" cried the Baronet. "Why, my dear sir, young
Chetney only arrived from Africa yesterday. It was so stated in the
evening papers."
The jaw of the American set in a resolute square, and he pressed his
lips together.
"You are perfectly right, sir," he said, "Lord Chetney did arrive in
London yesterday morning, and yesterday night I found his dead body."
The youngest member present was the first to recover. He seemed much
less concerned over the identity of the murdered man than at the
interruption of the narrative.
"Oh, please let him go on!" he cried. "What happened then? You say you
found two visiting cards. How do you know which card was that of the
murdered man?"
The American, before he answered, waited until the chorus of
exclamations had ceased. Then he continued as though he had not been
interrupted.
"The instant I read the names upon the cards," he said, "I ran to the
screen and, kneeling beside the dead man, began a search through his
pockets. My hand at once fell upon a card-case, and I found on all the
cards it contained the title of the Earl of Chetney. His watch and
cigarette-case also bore his name. These evidences, and the fact of
his bronzed skin, and that his cheekbones were worn with fever,
convinced me that the dead man was the African explorer, and the boy
who had fled past me in the night was Arthur, his younger brother.
"I was so intent upon my search that I had forgotten the servant, and
I was still on my knees when I heard a cry behind me. I turned, and
saw the man gazing down at the body in abject horror.
"Before I could rise, he gave another cry of terror, and, flinging
himself into the hall, raced toward the door to the street. I leaped
after him, shouting to him to halt, but before I could reach the hall
he had torn open the door, and I saw him spring out into the yellow
fog. I cleared the steps in a jump and ran down the garden walk but
just as the gate clicked in front of me. I had it open on the instant,
and, following the sound of the man's footsteps, I raced after him
across the open street. He, also, could hear me, and he instantly
stopped running, and there was absolute silence. He was so near that I
almost fancied I could hear him panting, and I held my own breath to
listen. But I could distinguish nothing but the dripping of the mist
about us, and from far off the music of the Hungarian band, which I
had heard when I first lost myself.
"All I could see was the square of light from the door I had left open
behind me, and a lamp in the hall beyond it flickering in the draught.
But even as I watched it, the flame of the lamp was blown violently to
and fro, and the door, caught in the same current of air, closed
slowly. I knew if it shut I could not again enter the house, and I
rushed madly toward it. I believe I even shouted out, as though it
were something human which I could compel to obey me, and then I
caught my foot against the curb and smashed into the sidewalk. When I
rose to my feet I was dizzy and half stunned, and though I thought
then that I was moving toward the door, I know now that I probably
turned directly from it; for, as I groped about in the night, calling
frantically for the police, my fingers touched nothing but the
dripping fog, and the iron railings for which I sought seemed to have
melted away. For many minutes I beat the mist with my arms like one at
blind man's buff, turning sharply in circles, cursing aloud at my
stupidity and crying continually for help. At last a voice answered me
from the fog, and I found myself held in the circle of a policeman's
lantern.
"That is the end of my adventure. What I have to tell you now is what
I learned from the police.
"At the station-house to which the man guided me I related what you
have just heard. I told them that the house they must at once find was
one set back from the street within a radius of two hundred yards from
the Knightsbridge Barracks, that within fifty yards of it some one was
giving a dance to the music of a Hungarian band, and that the railings
before it were as high as a man's waist and filed to a point. With
that to work upon, twenty men were at once ordered out into the fog to
search for the house, and Inspector Lyle himself was despatched to the
home of Lord Edam, Chetney's father, with a warrant for Lord Arthur's
arrest. I was thanked and dismissed on my own recognizance.
"This morning, Inspector Lyle called on me, and from him I learned the
police theory of the scene I have just described.
"Apparently I had wandered very far in the fog, for up to noon to-day
the house had not been found, nor had they been able to arrest Lord
Arthur. He did not return to his father's house last night, and there
is no trace of him; but from what the police knew of the past lives of
the people I found in that lost house, they have evolved a theory, and
their theory is that the murders were committed by Lord Arthur.
"The infatuation of his elder brother, Lord Chetney, for a Russian
princess, so Inspector Lyle tells me, is well known to every one.
About two years ago the Princess Zichy, as she calls herself, and he
were constantly together, and Chetney informed his friends that they
were about to be married. The woman was notorious in two continents,
and when Lord Edam heard of his son's infatuation he appealed to the
police for her record.
"It is through his having applied to them that they know so much
concerning her and her relations with the Chetneys. From the police
Lord Edam learned that Madame Zichy had once been a spy in the employ
of the Russian Third Section, but that lately she had been repudiated
by her own government and was living by her wits, by blackmail, and by
her beauty. Lord Edam laid this record before his son, but Chetney
either knew it already or the woman persuaded him not to believe in
it, and the father and son parted in great anger. Two days later the
marquis altered his will, leaving all of his money to the younger
brother, Arthur.
"The title and some of the landed property he could not keep from
Chetney, but he swore if his son saw the woman again that the will
should stand as it was, and he would be left without a penny.
"This was about eighteen months ago, when apparently Chetney tired of
the Princess, and suddenly went off to shoot and explore in Central
Africa. No word came from him, except that twice he was reported as
having died of fever in the jungle, and finally two traders reached
the coast who said they had seen his body. This was accepted by all as
conclusive, and young Arthur was recognized as the heir to the Edam
millions. On the strength of this supposition he at once began to
borrow enormous sums from the money lenders. This is of great
importance, as the police believe it was these debts which drove him
to the murder of his brother. Yesterday, as you know, Lord Chetney
suddenly returned from the grave, and it was the fact that for two
years he had been considered as dead which lent such importance to his
return and which gave rise to those columns of detail concerning him
which appeared in all the afternoon papers. But, obviously, during his
absence he had not tired of the Princess Zichy, for we know that a few
hours after he reached London he sought her out. His brother, who had
also learned of his reappearance through the papers, probably
suspected which would be the house he would first visit, and followed
him there, arriving, so the Russian servant tells us, while the two
were at coffee in the drawing-room. The Princess, then, we also learn
from the servant, withdrew to the dining-room, leaving the brothers
together. What happened one can only guess.
"Lord Arthur knew now that when it was discovered he was no longer the
heir, the money-lenders would come down upon him. The police believe
that he at once sought out his brother to beg for money to cover the
post-obits, but that, considering the sum he needed was several
hundreds of thousands of pounds, Chetney refused to give it him. No
one knew that Arthur had gone to seek out his brother. They were
alone. It is possible, then, that in a passion of disappointment, and
crazed with the disgrace which he saw before him, young Arthur made
himself the heir beyond further question. The death of his brother
would have availed nothing if the woman remained alive. It is then
possible that he crossed the hall, and with the same weapon which made
him Lord Edam's heir destroyed the solitary witness to the murder. The
only other person who could have seen it was sleeping in a drunken
stupor, to which fact undoubtedly he owed his life. And yet,"
concluded the Naval Attache, leaning forward and marking each word
with his finger, "Lord Arthur blundered fatally. In his haste he left
the door of the house open, so giving access to the first passer-by,
and he forgot that when he entered it he had handed his card to the
servant. That piece of paper may yet send him to the gallows. In the
mean time he has disappeared completely, and somewhere, in one of the
millions of streets of this great capital, in a locked and empty
house, lies the body of his brother, and of the woman his brother
loved, undiscovered, unburied, and with their murder unavenged."
In the discussion which followed the conclusion of the story of the
Naval Attache the gentleman with the pearl took no part. Instead, he
arose, and, beckoning a servant to a far corner of the room, whispered
earnestly to him until a sudden movement on the part of Sir Andrew
caused him to return hurriedly to the table.
"There are several points in Mr. Sears's story I want explained," he
cried. "Be seated, Sir Andrew," he begged. "Let us have the opinion of
an expert. I do not care what the police think, I want to know what
you think."
But Sir Henry rose reluctantly from his chair.
"I should like nothing better than to discuss this," he said. "But it
is most important that I proceed to the House. I should have been
there some time ago." He turned toward the servant and directed him to
call a hansom.
The gentleman with the pearl stud looked appealingly at the Naval
Attache. "There are surely many details that you have not told us," he
urged. "Some you have forgotten."
The Baronet interrupted quickly.
"I trust not," he said, "for I could not possibly stop to hear them."
"The story is finished," declared the Naval Attache; "until Lord
Arthur is arrested or the bodies are found there is nothing more to
tell of either Chetney or the Princess Zichy."
"Of Lord Chetney perhaps not," interrupted the sporting-looking
gentleman with the black tie, "but there'll always be something to
tell of the Princess Zichy. I know enough stories about her to fill a
book. She was a most remarkable woman." The speaker dropped the end
of his cigar into his coffee cup and, taking his case from his pocket,
selected a fresh one. As he did so he laughed and held up the case
that the others might see it. It was an ordinary cigar-case of
well-worn pig-skin, with a silver clasp.
"The only time I ever met her," he said, "she tried to rob me of
this."
The Baronet regarded him closely.
"She tried to rob you?" he repeated.
"Tried to rob me of this," continued the gentleman in the black tie,
"and of the Czarina's diamonds." His tone was one of mingled
admiration and injury.
"The Czarina's diamonds!" exclaimed the Baronet. He glanced quickly
and suspiciously at the speaker, and then at the others about the
table. But their faces gave evidence of no other emotion than that of
ordinary interest.
"Yes, the Czarina's diamonds," repeated the man with the black tie.
"It was a necklace of diamonds. I was told to take them to the Russian
Ambassador in Paris who was to deliver them at Moscow. I am a Queen's
Messenger," he added.
"Oh, I see," exclaimed Sir Andrew in a tone of relief. "And you say
that this same Princess Zichy, one of the victims of this double
murder, endeavored to rob you of--of--that cigar-case."
"And the Czarina's diamonds," answered the Queen's Messenger
imperturbably. "It's not much of a story, but it gives you an idea of
the woman's character. The robbery took place between Paris and
Marseilles."
The Baronet interrupted him with an abrupt movement. "No, no," he
cried, shaking his head in protest. "Do not tempt me. I really cannot
listen. I must be at the House in ten minutes."
"I am sorry," said the Queen's Messenger. He turned to those seated
about him. "I wonder if the other gentlemen--" he inquired
tentatively. There was a chorus of polite murmurs, and the Queen's
Messenger, bowing his head in acknowledgment, took a preparatory sip
from his glass. At the same moment the servant to whom the man with
the black pearl had spoken, slipped a piece of paper into his hand. He
glanced at it, frowned, and threw it under the table.