The Red Widow: or, The Death-Dealers of London

"Ah! yes. But not about the rats. Where's Nibby?"

Boyne caught the little animal and gave it into the hands of the strange figure, who stroked its sleek coat.

Suddenly the weird form in the soiled white disguise sprang to its feet without warning, and, facing its jailer, shrieked:

"Ah! But who are you? Who are you? I'm beginning to realise the truth at last —yes – at last!"

CHAPTER XIII

RELATES A STRANGE CONVERSATION

"Who are you?" shrieked the weird, hooded figure in the white cloak in a fierce voice, standing up suddenly above the seated man who was in exactly similar disguise.

The pair, one seated, and the other having suddenly sprung up, faced each other. The smaller, and apparently weaker figure had assumed a distinctly offensive attitude. His eyes shone behind the narrow slits.

"Fool!" laughed Boyne, who was seated. "Sit down, you idiotic fool!" And he waved his hand in contempt. "If I had not looked after you, and hidden you here, you would long ago have been given over to the hangman. Just remember that!" he shouted loudly. "Sink that into your skull, sleepy brain!"

"But – but," faltered the figure. "But who are you? You are not Wisden!"

Boyne, disguised in his white cloak with hood – the two presenting the most weird spectacle in the light of day in that dingy room in Hammersmith – started, then hesitated for a second.

"Yes," he replied, in a hard voice. "I am Wisden! Now you know! Wisden, of Twywell! Do you recollect the name?"

"You – Wisden!" gasped the person whose countenance was disguised by that hideous hood. "I – I – !" And he sank back into his chair.

"Now you know, you accursed fool!" exclaimed the mystery man. "And let that also sink into your silly noddle. Further, keep a still tongue. Be silent when you are up there, for people may listen and hear you. If they do, then you'll be discovered, and your death will be quick. Recollect that they are waiting for you – the affair isn't forgotten."

"No," sighed the weird figure. "No – I know it hasn't been forgotten. My crime! —my crime!"

"Yes. But don't refer to it. Just keep a level head, my dear Lionel, as you always do. I will still look after you if you remain silent and do what I order. I will supply you with everything. But be very careful that when I carry you up your food you don't speak. Somebody might overhear. These cursed walls have ears, although the old woman Felmore is deaf. Do you understand me?" he asked in a more imperative voice, rising, taking him by the shoulders, and shaking him. "Now tell me – you understand – eh?"

"Yes, yes!" the other gibbered in a strange tone. "You – Wisden – Willie Wisden! Oh, yes! I – I see! Dear old Willie, who was with me at Monte Carlo. Oh, yes! And that beautiful microscope?"

"You've got it upstairs. Don't you recollect it? Why, I gave it to you in the Terminus Hotel, in Marseilles, three years ago. Are you growing foolish? Surely not!"

"Yes. Oh, yes! I recollect now – the beautiful mike – oh, yes! Oh, what that instrument must have cost – oh, what a lot! – what a lot of money!"

"It did cost a good bit. And it's yours. So don't worry. I'll look after you, Lionel. But don't play the fool, or you'll go to the gallows over that unfortunate little affair – I warn you! Scotland Yard is looking everywhere for you, and they would have had you long ago if I hadn't taken you in hand and had pity upon you."

For a few moments the strange figure huddled in the chair remained silent.

"Yes – I know. And – and Lilla?" he asked.

"She's dead – died a year ago," was Boyne's prompt reply.

"Lilla dead!" sighed the other. "Poor Lilla! She was a very good wife to you – just as Alice was to me! Poor Lilla!"

"Don't you bother about my personal affairs, Lionel. Just keep your own end up, and breathe the bit of fresh air now while you can before you go back to your own quarters. I don't like you getting up through that trap-door on to the roof. Somebody might see you one night."

"My quarters! My prison, you mean!" he retorted bitterly.

"Prison? Fool, what are you saying? Your room is surely comfortable, and I do my best for you. If you want to get out – do so. And you'll be arrested by the first police constable who comes along."

"But it is prison!" replied the mysterious figure in a voice asking for pity. "Prison!"

"Well – take your liberty, and take the consequences," the other responded roughly.

"Look what I do! I'm always working for you – always!"

Boyne laughed harshly.

"Very well! Give it up, and I'll fling you out into the gutter – now – just as you are! I shan't suffer," he added, "but you will! By gad you will!"

The man from upstairs cringed and drew his breath.

"No! No! Wisden! No! – don't do that! I'll do all you ask – all! Alice – my dear Alice – always said you were my best friend – my very best friend."

"And so I am, my dear fellow!" exclaimed Boyne. "I've done my best for you all along – all along."

"Look!" cried the lonely man who lived upstairs, and whose movements were never heard by deaf old Mrs. Felmore. "What's that?"

And with a shriek of horror he pointed to a corner of the dingy room.

"What? I don't see anything!" was Boyne's reply. "You've got one of those spooky fits of yours coming on again. You'd better go back."

"I don't want to go back," whined the person whose Christian name was Lionel. "Surely you won't send me back, Wisden?"

"Yes; for your own sake you must lie low. Try to understand what I say. We are mutually interested in each other. It is to the advantage of both that you should remain here. I am not your jailer, recollect. If you wish, you can walk out now. But I warn you that you will walk straight into the hangman's noose. Scotland Yard and the Old Bailey are awaiting you, and are ready, never fear."

"But where's Alice?" asked the squeaky voice.

"Alice is dead."

"Are you sure? How and where did she die?"

"In Avignon. In a house close behind the Pope's Palace. Surely you remember? You were there."

"I wasn't there. I swear I was not. When we were in Avignon we were all happy together. Alice with me, and you with Lilla."

"My dear boy, your memory is at fault. Did you not stay in Avignon while Lilla and I motored to Paris? Now think! Did you not take an apartment in the Rue Cardinale, and remain after our departure? Alice, your wife, died there! Why, only a few minutes ago you deplored her loss!"

"Yes. But how can I be certain that she is dead?" asked the other dubiously.

"Because I tell you she is. I'm not a liar!" cried Boyne fiercely, again assuming an overbearing attitude.

"But I want to go home – to see my home again – the garden – the flowers – and Alice."

"You'll never see her again. And you are safer here. So you had better go back to your room and keep a still tongue. And be careful not to make a noise. You made a horrible row the other night."