The Lust of Hate - Guy Newell Boothby (english love story books txt) 📗
- Author: Guy Newell Boothby
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whatever I did, I must do quickly. It was nearly one o’clock by this
time, and if I wanted to see him at the rendezvous I must hurry, or
he would have gone before I reached it. In that case, what should I
do with the cab?
After anxious thought I came to the conclusion that I had better
find him and hand him his terrible property. Then, if I wished to
give him the slip, I could lead him to suppose I intended returning
to my hotel, and afterwards act as I might deem best for my own
safety. This once decided, I turned the vehicle round, whipped up the
horse, and set off for Hogarth Square as fast as I could go. It was a
long journey, for several times I missed my way and had to retrace my
steps; but at last I accomplished it and drove into the Square. Sure
enough at the second lamppost on the left hand side, where he had
appointed to meet me, three men were standing beside a hansom cab,
and from the way they peered about, it was evident they were
anxiously awaiting the arrival of someone. One I could see at first
glance was Nikola, the other was probably his Chinese servant, the
man who had brought me the cab earlier in the evening, but the
third’s identity I could not guess. Nor did I waste time trying.
As I approached them Nikola held up his hand as a signal to me to
stop, and I immediately pulled up and got down. Not a question did he
ask about my success or otherwise, but took from the second cab a
bowler hat and a top coat, which I recognised as the garments I had
left at Levi Solomon’s that evening.
“Put these on,” he said, “and then come with me as quickly as you
can. I have a lot to say to you.”
I did as he ordered me, and when my sou’wester and cape had been
tossed into the empty cab, he beckoned me to follow him down the
square. His servant had meanwhile driven that awful cab away.
“Now, what have you to tell me?” he asked, when we had walked a
little distance along the pavement.
I stopped and faced him with a face, I’ll be bound, as ashen as
that of a corpse.
“I have done your fiendish bidding,” I hissed. “I am—God help
me—unintentionally what you have made me—a murderer.”
“Then the man is dead, is he?” replied Nikola, with icy calmness.
“That is satisfactory. Now we have to divert suspicion from yourself.
All things considered, I think you had better go straight back to
your hotel, and keep quiet there until I communicate with you. You
need have no fear as to your safety. No one will suspect you.
Hitherto we have been most successful in eluding detection.”
As he spoke, the memory of the other murders which had shocked all
London flashed through my brain, and instantly I realised everything.
The victims, so the medical men stated, had in each case been killed
by some anesthetic: they had been found in the centre of the road, as
if dropped from a vehicle, while their faces had all been mutilated
in the same uncanny fashion. I turned and looked at the man by my
side, and then, in an unaccountable fit of rage, threw myself upon
him. The men who actually did the deeds were innocent—here was the
real murderer—the man who had instigated and egged them on to
crime. He had led my soul into hell, but he should not escape scot
free.
The suddenness of my passion took him completely by surprise, but
only for an instant. Then, with a quick movement of his hands, he
caught my wrists, and held me in a grip of iron. I was disarmed and
powerless, and he knew it, and laughed mockingly.
“So you would try and add me to your list, would you, Mr. Gilbert
Pennethorne? Be thankful that I am mercifully inclined, and do not
punish you as you deserve.”
Without another word he threw me from him, with the ease of a
practised wrestler, and I fell upon the pavement as if I had been
shot. The shock brought me to my senses, and I rose an altogether
different man, though still hating him with a tenfold loathing as the
cause of all my misery. Having once rid himself of me however, he,
seemed to think no more of the matter.
“Now be off to your hotel,” he said sharply, “and don’t stir from
it until I communicate with you. By making this fuss you might have
hung yourself, to say nothing of implicating me. Tomorrow morning I
will let you know what is best to be done. In the meantime, remain
indoors, feign ill health, and don’t see any strangers on any pretext
whatever.”
He stood at the corner of the Square, and watched me till I had
turned the corner, as cool and diabolical a figure as the Author of
all Evil himself. I only looked back once, and then walked briskly on
until I reached Piccadilly Circus, where I halted and gazed about me
in a sort of dim confused wonderment at my position. What a variety
of events had occurred since the previous night, when I had stood in
the same place, and had heard the policeman’s whistle sound from
Jermyn Street, in proclamation of the second mysterious murder! How
little I had then thought that within twenty-four hours I should be
in the same peril as the murderer of the man I had seen lying under
the light of the policeman’s lantern! Perhaps even at this moment
Bartrand’s body had been discovered, and a hue and cry was on foot
for the man who had done the deed. With this thought in my mind, a
greater terror than I had yet felt came over me, and I set off as
hard as I could go down a bye-street into Trafalgar Square, thence by
way of Northumberland Avenue on to the Embankment. Once there I leant
upon the coping and looked down at the dark water slipping along so
silently on its way to the sea. Here was my chance if only I had the
pluck to avail myself of it. Life had now no hope left for me. Why
should I not throw myself over, and so escape the fate that must
inevitably await me if I lived? One moment’s courage, a little
struggling in the icy water, a last choking cry, and then it would
all be over and done with, and those who had the misfortune to call
themselves my kinsmen would be spared the mortification of seeing me
standing in a felon’s dock. I craned my neck still further over the
side, and looked at the blocks of ice as they went by, knocking
against each other with a faint musical sound that sounded like the
tinkling of tiny bells. I remembered the depth of the river, and
pictured my sodden body stranded on to the mud by the ebbing tide
somewhere near the sea. I could fancy the conjectures that would be
made concerning it. Would anyone connect me with—but there, I could
not go on. Nor could I do what I had proposed. Desperate as was my
case, I found I still clung to life with a tenacity that even crime
itself could not lessen. No; by hook or crook I must get out of
England to some place where nobody would know me, and where I could
begin a new life. By cunning it could surely be managed. But in that
case I knew I must not go back to my hotel, and run the risk of
seeing Nikola again. I distrusted his powers of saving me; and, if I
fell once more under his influence, goodness alone knew what I might
not be made to do. No; I would make some excuse to the landlord to
account for my absence, and then creep quietly out of England in such
a way that no one would suspect me. But how was it to be managed? To
remain in London would be to run endless risks. Anyone might
recognise me, and then capture would be inevitable. I turned out my
pockets and counted my money. Fortunately, I had cashed a cheque only
the day before, and now had nearly forty pounds in notes and gold in
my purse; not very much, it is true, but amply sufficient for my
present needs. The question was: Where should I go? Australia, the
United States, South America, South Africa? Which of these places
would be safest? The first and second I rejected without
consideration. The first I had tried, the second I had no desire to
visit. Chili, the Argentine, or Bechuanaland? It all depended on the
boats. To whichever place a vessel sailed first, to that place I
would go.
Casting one last glance at the ice-bound water below me, and with
a shudder at the thought of what I had contemplated doing when I
first arrived upon the Embankment, I made my way back into the
Strand. It was now close upon three o’clock, and already a few people
were abroad. If I were not out of London within a few hours, I might
be caught. I would go directly I had decided what it was imperative I
should know. Up one street and down another I toiled until at last I
came upon what I wanted, a small restaurant in a back street, devoted
to the interests of the early arrivals at Covent Garden Market. It
was only a tiny place, shabby in the extreme, but as it just suited
my purpose, I walked boldly in, and ordered a cup of cocoa and a
plate of sausages. While they were being prepared I seated myself in
one of the small compartments along the opposite wall, and with my
head upon my hands tried to think coherently. When the proprietor
brought me the food, I asked him if he could oblige me with the loan
of writing materials. He glanced at me rather queerly, I thought, but
did not hesitate to do what I asked. When he had gone again I dipped
the pen into the ink and wrote a note to the proprietor of my hotel,
telling him that I had been suddenly taken out of town by important
business, and asking him to forward my boxes, within a week, to the
cloak room, Aberdeen railway station, labelled “to be called for.”
I chose Aberdeen for the reason that it was a long distance from
London, and also because it struck me that if enquiries were made by
the police it would draw attention off my real route, which would
certainly not be in that direction. I then wrote a cheque for the
amount of my account, enclosed it, and having done so sealed up the
letter and put it in my pocket. On an adjoining table I espied a
newspaper, which I made haste to secure. Turning to the column where
the shipping advertisements were displayed, I searched the list for a
vessel outward bound to one of the ports I had chosen. I discovered
that to Chili or any of the South American Republics there would not
be a boat sailing for at least a week to come. When I turned to South
Africa I was more fortunate; a craft named the Fiji Princess
was advertised to sail from Southampton for Cape Town at 11 a.m. on
this self-same day. She was of 4,000 tons burden, but had only
accommodation for ten first-class passengers and fifty in the
steerage. What pleased me better
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