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Seven Secrets, The

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<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> <h3>MR. LANE’S ROMANCE.</h3> The Seven Secrets, each distinct from each other and yet connected; each one in itself a complete enigma, formed a problem of which even Ambler Jevons himself could not discover the solution. Contrary to his usual methods, he allowed me to accompany him in various directions, making curious inquiries that had apparently nothing to connect them with the mystery of the death of Mr. and Mrs. Courtenay. In reply to a wire I had sent to Ethelwynn came a message saying that her mother was entirely prostrated, therefore she could not at present leave her. This, when shown to Ambler, caused him to purse his lips and raise his shoulders with that gesture of suspicion which was a peculiarity of his. Was it possible that he actually suspected her? The name of Slade seemed ever in Jevons’ mind. Indeed, most of his inquiries were regarding some person of that name. One evening, after dining together, he took me in a cab across the City to the Three Nuns Hotel, at Aldgate—where, in the saloon bar, we sat drinking. Before setting out he had urged me to put on a shabby suit of clothes and a soft hat, so that in the East End we should not attract attention as “swells.” As for his own personal appearance, it was certainly not that of the spruce city man. He was an adept at disguises, and on this occasion wore a reefer jacket, a peaked cap, and a dark violet scarf in lieu of collar, thus presenting the aspect of a seafarer ashore. He smoked a pipe of the most approved nautical type, and as we sat together in the saloon he told me sea stories, in order that a group of men sitting near might overhear. That he had some object in all this was quite certain, but what it was I could not gather. Suddenly, after an hour, a little under-sized old man of dirty and neglected appearance, who had been drinking at the bar, shuffled up to us, and whispered something to Ambler that I did not catch. The words, nevertheless, caused my companion to start, and, disregarding the fresh whiskey and soda he had just ordered, he rose and walked out—an example which I followed. “Lanky sent me, sir,” the old man said, addressing Ambler, when we were out in the street. “He couldn’t come hisself. ’E said you’d like to know the news.” “Of course, I was waiting for it,” replied my companion, alert and eager. “Well,” he said, “I suppose I’d better tell yer the truth at once, sir.” “Certainly. What is it?” “Well, Lanky’s dead.” “Dead?” cried Ambler. “Impossible. I was waiting for him.” “I know. This morning in the Borough Market he told me to come ’ere and find you, because he wasn’t able to come. ’E had a previous engagement. Lanky’s engagements were always interestin’,” he added, with a grim smile. “Well, go on,” said Ambler, eagerly. “What followed?” “’E told me to go down to Tait Street and see ’im at eight o’clock, as ’e had a message for you. I went, and when I got there I found ’im lying on the floor of his room stone dead.” “You went to the police, of course?” “No, I didn’t; I came here to see you instead. I believe the poor bloke’s been murdered. ’E was a good un, too—poor Lanky Lane!” “What!” I exclaimed. “Is that man Lane dead?” “It seems so,” Jevons responded. “If he is, then there we have further mystery.” “If you doubt it, sir, come with me down to Shadwell,” the old man said in his cockney drawl. “Nobody knows about it yet. I ought to have told the p’lice, but I know you’re better at mysterious affairs than the silly coppers in Leman Street.” Jevons’ fame as an investigator of crime had spread even to that class known as the submerged tenth. How fashions change! A year or two ago it was the mode in Society to go “slumming.” To-day only social reformers and missionaries make excursions to the homes of the lower class in East London. A society woman would not to-day dare admit that she had been further east than Leadenhall Street. “Let’s go and see what has really happened,” Ambler said to me. “If Lane is dead, then it proves that his enemy is yours.” “I can’t see that. How?” I asked. “You will see later. For the moment we must occupy ourselves with his death, and ascertain whether it is owing to natural causes or to foul play. He was a heavy drinker, and it may have been that.” “No,” declared the little old man, “Lanky wasn’t drunk to-day—that I’ll swear. I saw ’im in Commercial Road at seven, talkin’ to a feller wot’s in love wiv ’is sister.” “Then how do you account for this discovery of yours?” asked my companion. “I can’t account for it, guv’nor. I simply found ’im lying on the floor, and it give me a shock, I can tell yer. ’E was as cold as ice.” “Let’s go and see ourselves,” Ambler said: so together we hurried through the Whitechapel High Street, at that hour busy with its costermonger market, and along Commercial Road East, arriving at last in the dirty, insalubrious thoroughfare, a veritable hive of the lowest class of humanity, Tait Street, Shadwell. Up the dark stairs of one of the dirtiest of the dwellings our conductor guided us, lighting our steps with wax vestas, struck upon the wall, and on gaining the third floor of the evil-smelling place he pushed open a door, and we found ourselves in an unlit room. “Don’t move, gentlemen,” the old man urged. “You may fall over ’im. ’E’s right there, just where you’re standin’. I’ll light the lamp.” Then he struck another match, and by its fickle light we saw the body of Lane, the street-hawker, lying full length only a yard from us, just as our conductor had described. The cheap and smelling paraffin lamp being lit, I took a hasty glance around the poor man’s home. There was but little furniture save the bed, a chair or two, and a rickety table. Upon the latter was one of those flat bottles known as a “quartern.” Our first attention, however, was to the prostrate man. A single glance was sufficient to show that he was dead. His eyes were closed, his hands clenched, and his body was bent as though he had expired in a final paroxysm of agony. The teeth, too, were hard set, and there were certain features about his appearance that caused me to entertain grave suspicion from the first. His thin, consumptive face, now blanched, was strangely drawn, as though the muscles had suddenly contracted, and there was an absence of that composure one generally expects to find in the faces of those who die naturally. As a medical man I very soon noted sufficient appearances to tell me that death had been due either to suicide or foul play. The former seemed to me the most likely. “Well?” asked Ambler, rising from his knees when I had concluded the examination of the dead man’s skinny, ill-nourished body. “What’s your opinion, Ralph?” “He’s taken poison,” I declared. “Poison? You believe he’s been poisoned.” “It may have been wilful murder, or he may have taken it voluntarily,” I answered. “But it is most evident that the symptoms are those of poisoning.” Ambler gave vent to a low grunt, half of satisfaction, half of suspicion. I knew that grunt well. When on the verge of any discovery he always emitted that guttural sound. “We’d better inform the police,” I remarked. “That’s all we can do. The poor fellow is dead.” “Dead! Yes, we know that. But we must find out who killed him.” “Well,” I said, “I think at present, Ambler, we’ve quite sufficient on our hands without attempting to solve any further problems. The poor man may have been in despair and have taken poison wilfully.” “In despair!” echoed the old man. “No fear. Lanky was happy enough. ’E wasn’t the sort of fellow to hurry hisself out o’ the world. He liked life too jolly well. Besides, he ’ad a tidy bit o’ money in the Savin’s Bank. ’E was well orf once, wer’ Lanky. Excuse me for interruptin’.” “Well, if he didn’t commit suicide,” I remarked, “then, according to all appearances, poison was administered to him wilfully.” “That appears to be the most feasible theory,” Ambler said. “Here we have still a further mystery.” Of course, the post-mortem appearances of poisoning, except in a few instances, are not very characteristic. As every medical man is aware, poison, if administered with a criminal intent, is generally in such a dose as to take immediate effect—although this is by no means necessary, as there are numerous substances which accumulate in the system, and when given in small and repeated quantities ultimately prove fatal—notably, antimony. The diagnosis of the effects of irritant poisons is not so difficult as it is in the case of narcotics or other neurotics, where the symptoms are very similar to those produced by apoplexy, epilepsy, tetanus, convulsions, or other forms of disease of the brain. Besides, one of the most difficult facts we have to contend with in such cases is that poison may be found in the body, and yet a question may arise as to its having been the cause of death. <hr class="large" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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