The House Opposite: A Mystery

“Certainly not. You are young, and—well, not uncalculated to arouse his marital jealousy, while I,” patting his portly person, “am not likely to cause him any such anxieties. Even age and fat have their uses, sometimes.”

“But he may try to cut your throat,” I objected.

“One of my men will be just outside, and will probably get to me before he has quite finished me.” He had risen, and stood with his hand on the door-knob.

“Look here, Doctor, I’d like to bet you that Argot is innocent, and that a woman, and a mighty pretty woman, too, is the guilty party.”

“All right, Mr. Merritt; I’ll take you. I bet you fifty dollars that a man committed this crime.”

“Done!” exclaimed the detective, and, pulling out his pocket-book, he recorded the bet with great care. He looked at me for a moment longer with one of those quiet enigmatic smiles of his, and departed.

I watched him cross the street and enter the back door of the Rosemere. A moment afterwards a shabby-looking man came slouching along and stopped just outside, apparently absorbed in watching something in the gutter. The detective remained only a minute or so in the building, and when he came out he gave me a slight nod, which I interpreted as a sign that Argot was not at home. He took not the slightest notice of the tramp, and, turning north, trotted briskly up town.

As I watched him disappear, I wondered what made him so sure of the Frenchman’s innocence, and I tried vainly to guess who the woman could be whom he now had in mind. Miss Derwent, I was glad to say, was out of the question. He himself had proved to me by the most convincing arguments that Mrs. Atkins could not be guilty. And who else was there to suspect? For the criminal must have been an inmate of the building. That was one of the few facts which the detective claimed was established beyond a doubt.

CHAPTER XI

MADAME ARGOT’S MAD HUSBAND

AFTER my interview with the detective, I went out to visit some patients, and on my way home I met young Atkins, whom I had not seen since the preceding Thursday. Although we had met but once, he recognised me immediately, and greeted me most cordially. I was, however, shocked to see what havoc a short week had wrought in his looks. His face was drawn and pale, and he appeared nervous and ill at ease. Notwithstanding he had been walking in the opposite direction, he at once turned back, and we sauntered towards Madison Avenue together. Our chief topic of conversation was naturally the murder, and we both remarked how strange it was that the identity of the victim had not yet been established.

“I suppose,” said Atkins, “that we shall now never know who the man was, for I hear he was buried yesterday.”

“Oh, that doesn’t at all follow,” I assured him; “photographs have been taken of the corpse, and, if necessary, it can be exhumed at any time.”

Was my imagination playing me a trick, or was the young fellow really troubled by this information? We had now reached my destination, and, as I held out my hand to bid him good-bye, I said: “I am afraid Mrs. Atkins must have such unpleasant associations with me that she will not care to have me recalled to her notice; otherwise I should ask you to remember me to her. I hope she is well, and has not suffered too much from this prolonged heat?”

“I fear she’s not very well,” he replied. “It seems to have upset her nerves a good deal to have a murder occur in the building.”

“Yes, that is only natural. Wouldn’t it be advisable to take her away from here for a short time?” I suggested.

“I only wish she’d go; but she’s got some maggot in her head, and refuses to stir.” He paused a moment and glanced almost timidly at me.

“Doctor,” he burst out, “I wish you’d come and dine with us this evening. It would be a real kindness. Wife and I both have the blues, and you’d cheer us up no end.”

I was rather taken aback by his eagerness. “I’m very sorry, I can’t possibly do so to-night, for I’ve just promised to dine with an old friend, who is only in town for a short time.”

“Well, if you can’t come to-night, won’t you come to-morrow?” he urged.

I hesitated a moment. On the one hand I was anxious to oblige Atkins, whom I liked, and quite curious to see his wife again, and fathom, if possible, the cause of the change in her husband; while, on the other hand, I felt some delicacy about invading a lady’s home when I had reason to believe that my being there would not be agreeable to her, for I remembered that she had refused even to look at me on leaving the coroner’s presence.

“If you are sure Mrs. Atkins would care to see me, I shall be delighted to accept your invitation.”

“Why should she object to see you?” he demanded.

“There is really no reason,” I hastened to explain; “only as you tell me your wife has been much upset by the murder, and is consequently rather nervous at present, I don’t wish to inflict myself on her if there is the least danger that my company may recall that tragic occurrence too vividly to her.”

Atkins gave me a long, penetrating look, but having apparently satisfied himself that I had given my real reason, he said:

“Nonsense, Doctor! Mrs. Atkins isn’t as unreasonable as that. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you. Now, remember, we shall expect you at seven sharp to-morrow.”

“All right,” I called back to him.

I have given such a long account of this trifling incident, because for some time afterwards I could not get the young fellow’s face out of my mind, and I kept imagining all sorts of possible, and impossible, reasons for his changed looks. Could it be that he suspected the murdered man to have been a friend of his wife’s, and feared that she might have some guilty knowledge of his death?

As I realised how such a thought would torture him, I wanted to go at once and tell him how my first grave suspicions had been confirmed, till now I was fully convinced of Argot’s guilt. But, fearing that some injudicious word might show him that I had guessed the cause of his anxiety, I refrained. That evening after dining quietly at the Club with an old school-fellow I walked slowly home, down Madison Avenue, which, with its long rows of houses, almost all of which were closed up for the summer, presented an extremely dreary aspect. Although it was barely nine o’clock, the streets in that part of the town were well nigh deserted, everyone who could do so having fled from the city. The night was extremely dark, damp and hot. As I was nearing my office, I observed that the back door of the Rosemere was being cautiously opened, and a woman’s head, covered with a thick veil, peeped out. Madame Argot, I thought, and so it proved. Having satisfied herself that her lord and master was not in sight, she darted across the street, and disappeared in my house. I hurried up, so as not to keep her waiting, and, as I did so, I fancied I heard some one running behind me. Turning quickly around, I detected nothing suspicious. The only person I could see was a very fat man, whom I had passed several blocks back. Was he nearer than he should have been? I couldn’t tell. At any rate, he was still far enough away for it to be impossible to distinguish his features, but as I was sure that he was not Argot, I did not wait for him to come up with me. On entering the reception room, I found Madame, still heavily veiled, huddled up in a corner, where she thought she could not be seen from the street. I told her to go into the office and, approaching the window, I looked out. There was still nobody in sight except the fat man, and he had crossed over, and was ambling quietly along on the other side of the way. He was almost opposite now, and, after looking at him critically, I decided that it was too improbable that the running foot steps I had heard following me had been his. But whose were they, then? I trusted that the murder had not affected my nerves, also. At any rate, I decided to take the precaution of shutting and bolting the window, and of pulling down the blind, none of which things, during this hot weather, had I been in the habit of doing. But I did not intend to give that white-faced apparition, to whom I attributed the mysterious footsteps, the chance of falling upon me unaware, especially not while Madame Argot was on the premises.

“Well, how goes it?” I inquired, when I at last rejoined her.

“Oh, much, much better, Meestair.”

I saw, indeed, when I examined the cut, that it was healing splendidly.

“Meestair Docteur,” she began as soon as I had settled down to dress her wound, “’usban’ ’e come ’ere zis mornin’?”

“Yes,” I assented.

“Ana what ’e say, Meestair?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you that! Yon wouldn’t like me to repeat to him all that you say to me, would you?”

“No; but zen, me is different; I know ’e say zat me a bad ’oman; I know, I know!”

“Indeed, he said nothing of the sort, and if you don’t keep a little quieter, I shall really not be able to do my work properly.”

“Oh, pardon; I vill be so good.”

“By the way,” I inquired, “did Mr. Merritt call on you to-day?”

“Ah! you means ze gentleman vat I see, ven I go ze dead man’s?”

“Yes.”

“He a big policeman, not?” she asked.

“Well, not a very big one,” I answered, with a smile, “but he does a good deal of important work for the police.”

“Ah, yes. Important, oui,” she nodded. “Vy ’e come see my ’usban’? Do you know? I not know; my ’usban’, ’e not know, eizer.”

“He didn’t see your husband, then?”

“No; Argot, he not in.”

“Well, I think Mr. Merritt is looking for a hat containing the initials, A. B., and he wanted to ask your husband if he had found it, by any chance.”

She started up quite regardless of her wound.

“Ah, par example, oui! Yes, indeed,” she exclaimed, vehemently.