LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1526, 8 January 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

SHADOWED FORTH.

By tue Author of “In the Dead oe Night,”

( Continued.) In ono hand ho hold a roll of French bread, in the other a long, slender pocketknife. For a moment or two the knife was poised in mid air while ho gazed frowningly at the door. Then, when he whom he was expecting did not come, the knife descended, the bread was severed, and he sat down to his chocolate and dry crust with the air of a man who had not tasted food since yesterday. But, mean and commonplace as the man and his surroundings might sepm r,nd were, prosaic, as might be and, was, the occupation on which he was, engaged, I could not but hearken the'dread voice that whispered in my heart ‘ The man before you is the'murderer of Osric Imray !’

‘Do you see somebody you know ?’ asked Sergeant Smith, prompted thereto by the exclamation that broke involuntarily from my lips the moment my eyes caught sigh* of the shadow on the wall.

‘Yes,’ I said, with a qpfi gasp as I resumed my BPts„ * Qpmehpdy that I have been ’oozing for for a long time. You see nhai man/, I added, ‘ip the ploah and slouched hat, sitting by himself ip th,e top left hand corner?’ The uorgeant podded. ‘. Have you evey seep him before tonight ? ’ •; f can't say that I recollect his face,’ answered Smith cautiously, after a long steady stare. ‘ And yot it is anything hut an ordinary fuoo. Put somebody ou to find out all that can he found out about him, and bring your report to me as soon as you are ready. ’ ‘lt shall he done, sir,’ was sergeant s prompt response. ‘ To what cJ-’.Ev ipie customers of this place mostly boToflg?’ I asked. ‘Five-sixths of them are foreigners, as you can see for yourself, sir, A sprinkling of them may he French or Belgian workmen, who have found employment in London. The rest I should put down as being chiefly revolutionists and conspirators of diffeieot nadonalities who have fled their country, and who contrive to eke out a subsistence here, few save themselves know how ; while waiting for a turn cf fortune’s wb?*d Tifiat may make them gcaerals or senators, and give them, in theh’ Ifuua, the power of shooting or ceiling those who are now at the ton c,f the tree. 1 £he first 'thing to be done,’ continued Sergeant Smith, as soon as we were outside the t 'affi, ‘ is to ascertain where our Jewishlooking friend hides his head of a night. Do you, sir, wait here a minute or two while Igo and look for one of mv fellows. _lf our friend comes out meanwhile, follow him at a distance.’ T . , Away went the sergeant, while I remained on watch near the door of the cafe. But no ono came out, and in five minutes Sergeant Smith was back, accompanied by a policeman in plain clothes. 1 o this man certain instructions were given, after which the aergeaut and I wont our several

Some eight or nine days passed, when, one evening on returning to my rooms, I found the sergeant waiting for me. What he had to tell mo may briefly be related as follows.

The man’s name—or rather, the name be was known by—was Pierre Lenoir, but whether he were really a Frenchman, as his name would imply, was doubtful, Smith was inclined to put him down as a Pole or a Hungarian ; but the sergeant’s knowlege of different nationalities was neither accurate nor extensive. To whatever country the man belonged, he had no ascertainable employment, nor any visible means of subsistence. He lived in one room, the secondfloor front of No. 33a, Winckworth street, Soho. He generally left his lodging about noon; breakfasted at some cafe ; read the newspapers, English and foreign ; smoked innumerable cigarettes s sauntered through the streets for an hour or two, sometimes in company, sometimes alone ; visited different compatriots, all of whom, like himself, seemed to live in one room ; and so, in the course of the evening, found his w r ay back to one or another cafe where he spent the hours till midnight, sometimes brooding silently over his own thoughts, sometimes playing dominoes or draughts noisily with his friends. After that, home to his second floor front, not to be seen over the threshold again till noon the next day. So far as could be ascertained, when at home he associated with nobody and had few or no visitors.

Such was the substance of what Sergeant Smith had to tell me. But now that 1 had found out so much, what was I to do next ? What use could I make of the information thus acquired ? I had settled upon no definite plan of action. I only felt that I must do something—or rather, I felt that something was given mo to do. As yet the way was dark before, but that light would come in time I did not doubt, I did not doubt that behind the thrice-seen shadow was a hidden purpose which of a surety would in due time remain hidden no longer. On the evening of the day following that of the sergeant’s visit I found myself in Winckworth street, Soho That it had at one time been a street with some pretensions to be considered fashionable was at once apparent, both from the size ef the houses and the style in which they were built. But as the tide of society ebbed westward, bo had Winckworth street gradually but surely fallen into decay, till at length the whilom homes of fashion and gentility had come to be nothing more than so many lodginghouses ; not as yet lodging-houses of the commonest kind, but year by year imperceptibly tending that way. No. 33a differed in nowise from its neighbours. It bad a basement floor below the level of the street, the window of which looked into a tiny railed off space not much bigger than a lady’s travelling trunk. Above this was a room with three windows—it had once been the dining-room with a front door and a rather fine porch, that probably dated from the reign of the First or Second George. Over this was what had originally been the drawing-room, with its four flat-looking windows and small longitudinal panes. Higher still were two more stories of four windows each, and then the roof. According to Smith, the semnd-floor front was the room occupied by Lenoir. To this lat once directed my attention. As stated already, it had four windows. At one of these windows a young woman now sat sewing, and yet the sergeant had said that Lenoir lived alone and had no visitors. I paced, up and down the street several times, glancing up at the window each time I passed it. All the windows had Venetian blinds, but after a time I noticed that the two lefthand windows, at one of which the girl was sitting, had, in addition, short blinds of some common kind of net or muslin, while the two right-hand windows were bare. Then it struck me that the second-floor front was probably divided into two rooms with two windows to each room, Lenoir being the occupant of one of them and the girl who was sewing of the other.

I was still busy working out this idea, when I noticed that a small card was suspended in the dining-room window. I crossed the road to read what was written on it, “ Top Back-room to Let, Unfurnished,” were the words I saw. My heart gave a thi'ob as I read, I walked down the street and up again while I composed myself. Then I knocked. The door was answered by a jaded, |wasbed-out |old woman, whose face looked all nose and chin. 1 told her I wanted to look at the room that was to let, and at her request I followed her up stairs. Of course the room suited me. Any room in that house would have suited mo. I agreed at once to take it. ‘ I suppose you have several other lodgers in the house ?’ I asked. ‘ Heaps of ’m,’ was the answer. Then she told me that the whole of the h<msewas rented by her husband, who. with herself, lived on the basement floey, That the ground floor was let off to a professor of music, and the drawing room floor let to a professor of dancing and his two daughters. On the floor above were ‘Mounseer Lenoir, 1 a very quiet French gentleman ; and, in the adjoining room, a young lady connected with one of the ‘theaytres,’ Higher still, a young West-end shopman found accommodation, and at the back was the room I had just taken. When I told the old lady that I was au artist by profession, she answered that there were ‘ lots of ’em’ about that neighborhood, but from her tone I gathered that she did not consider them of much account.

Next day I moved a few traps into my domicile, the chief articles being an easel and a camp bedstead, and tried to make myself as comfortable as the circumstipoepe. of the case would permit. *

As it was far frftp* *ny intention to spend the whole _ my time in Winckworth ini; tkem, daily, and still looking upon them • as my real homo. But between ten o’clock and noon next day I was always at No 33a, that is to say, during the whole time Lenoir was under the same roof. At the end of a week I had seen him twice. Once I brushed past him- on the stairs as I was going down and he coming up ; once I hirp at the corner of the street as i was on my way to the house. On neither, gepasion did he appear to take 1 more notice me than if there had been no | such person in exist onto. I In my search fa? any scraps of information that might prove useful to mo, I made it my business to ingratiate myself with my landlady and her husband. The latter was a man between sixty and seventy years old. Ho had been a soldier at ono time, and after that a gentleman’s servant, and had travelled much in early life. He was a great smoker, and fond of a “crack” with anyone that would talk to him. So one or two evenings a week I made a point of descending to the basement and smoking a pipe with the old fellow. On i,heae. occasions I hoard the history e* aj;l his lodgers as far as they known to him, although it was about i one man only that I eared to hear. But of Lenoir he c.ouid tell mo very littlo more than , 1 had already been told by Smith. In the eyes of the old man and his wife the Frenchman was a model lodger. He gave no trouble, kept regular hours, had no visitors, and was always ready with his rent. But the young lady who was connected with the ‘ theaytre ’ was not always ready with her rent. She. had been out of an cngagement for a considerable time, arti her means wore nearly exhausted. She had paid no rent for six weeks. Tho old man and his i wife were loth to turn the girl out of her ] room, but all the same they wanted their money. 1 All at once an idea struck me. * Suppose the young lady and I exchange rooms,’l said, ‘ Her room is larger than mine ; besides which the light is hotter for painting. If she will agree to this, I will pay up her back rent, and also a mouth’s rent in advanes of the room she will move into.’ ‘ If she don’t accept your oiler, sir,’ said the old man, ‘ I’ll send her packing before she’s a day older,’

But she did accept it with tears of gratitude the next day. While the Frenchman was from home, the, transfer of chattels was effected, and that night I slept in one of the two rooms ou the second floor front. Only a thin brick wall now separated Lenoir and myself.

To be centime#.