Guilty Bonds

He held a piece of torn paper, but what was on it I could not then see. Putting his shaking hand upon my shoulder, and his ashen face with its wild, glaring eyes, close to my own, he hissed, with a kind of vicious pleasure.

“You think me an impostor, eh? Well, look at this, and remember what it has revealed to you before. Then say if I have stopped you without cause. Its author may yet be found!”

His face wore a smile of triumph as he held before my eyes a torn fragment of paper. With an indefinable thrill of excitement, not unmingled with alarm – for his words were ominous – I took it. So dark was it in the vehicle that I held it close to my eyes till we approached the next street-lamp. As we did so, and the light fell across the crumpled and dirty paper, my heart almost stopped beating, and my pulses, for a moment ceased.

There, in all its frightful reality, was the seal!

Chapter Twenty Two

The Verge of a Discovery

My first impulse was to call the police, but he noticed my intention, and his hand was laid hurriedly upon my mouth.

“There’s nothing to fear – I’m not the man,” he said. “Make no noise, and keep your own counsel. I can tell you plenty about this, if you care to listen.”

The words fell dimly and indistinctly upon my ears. I was stunned and speechless – it was as if some vast substance had struck me an annihilating blow, which, while paralysing my senses to a certain degree, yet left me half oblivious. It was clear we were in a cab, driving aimlessly about London streets at a late hour. It was also true that I had once more seen that fatal, horrible symbol, associated with which were the most terrifying and agonising events of my life. I could not, however, speak, and it was only by great effort that I retained my courage.

My companion stooped and picked up something that had fallen at our feet. It was the paper to which the seal was affixed, that had dropped from my nerveless fingers.

Suddenly an icy-cold hand was laid upon my forehead.

“Wake up! wake up! – be a man! I’ve told you to fear nothing with me. We’re wasting precious time. Arouse yourself for once in your life!”

My senses returned as suddenly as they had fled. The horror of feeling his hand – a hand that had in its possession the seal – recalled me. I sat upright and drew to my side of the cab as much as I could.

“Ah!” he exclaimed bitterly, “you are still afraid of me. See here, now,” and he leaned across, speaking deliberately and with quiet emphasis, “I may die to-night, but – ”

“What!” I exclaimed, “you die to-night?”

“Yes,” he replied, in the same cool and determined tone. “You seem incredulous, but I am sure. Look!”

He put his hand to the back of his head and withdrew it, holding it before my eyes.

“Blood! Good heavens?” I ejaculated, as again the light revealed his thin grimy fingers.

“True, and I’ve not long to live – all the more reason, is it not, that I should make haste? Will you come to my home, now?”

“At once. But let us drive to a doctor and see about your head.” All my repugnance had vanished.

“Wait,” he said, shouting to the cabman an address. I remember that we at once altered our course, but whither we were proceeding I cared not – knew not. Here was, perhaps, an elucidation of the mystery forthcoming, and I had nearly done my utmost to prevent it.

“Go on; tell me all you can,” I demanded, when, after considerable persuasion, he had consented to have his head bound up as well as my slight knowledge of surgery permitted.

“Presently. When we get home – or what was once my home,” he rejoined. He was paler than before, and leaned back in a state apparently of the utmost exhaustion. His necktie had been loosened, and I had placed my travelling rug around the thinly-covered chest, yet in spite of this the severe reaction affected him severely. Sometimes he closed his eyes, and every now and then, when we passed along streets where the lights were more brilliant than in others, he stared vacantly at the roof of the cab.

Once, when I was leaning over him, making him a little more comfortable, a tear rolled down the thin, haggard cheek.

The journey seemed interminable. Street after street we traversed, and yet our journey’s end appeared as far off as ever. We had evidently wandered a long way before our driver received a definite address, or possibly he was lengthening the course for his own benefit.

The fact was that, in my impatience, it appeared longer than it really would have done.

Eventually we regained the Strand, and shortly afterwards our conveyance came to a standstill in what appeared to be anything but an inviting neighbourhood. Not a soul was about, and the empty street rattled loudly as we clattered along it.

We were in Drury Lane, before the entrance to a narrow squalid court.

As we stopped I turned with a sigh of relief to my companion, who, however, stirred not.

A fearful misgiving entered my heart. Was it possible he was dead?