The Cloven Foot

tight, and puts it back in the corner, and covers it over with other things, old newspapers and old clothes, and suchlike, just as it was before. And then I runs downstairs and routs out the key of the closet, and takes and locks it. I was all of a tremble while I did it, but I felt there was a power within me to do it. I had but just put the key in my pocket when there came a loud knocking downstairs. From the time Mr. Desrolles had gone out it wasn’t quite a quarter of an hour, but I felt pretty sure this was him come back again. I pushed back the bed, and ran down to the door, still trembling inwardly. ‘What the⁠—(wicked word)⁠—did you put the chain up for?’ he asked, angrily, for it was him. I told him that I felt that nervous after last night that I was obliged to do it. He smelt strong of brandy, and I thought that he was looking strange, like a man that feels all queer his inside, and struggles not to show it. ‘I suppose I must put myself into a clean shirt for this inquest,’ he says, and then he goes upstairs, and I wonders to myself how he feels as he goes by the door where that poor thing lies.”

“Did he never ask you for the key of the closet?”

“Never. Whether he guessed what had happened, and knew that I suspected him, I can’t tell⁠—but he never asked no questions, and the closet has been locked up to this day, and I’ve got the key, and if you will come upstairs with me I’ll show you what I saw that dreadful morning.”

“No, no, there’s no need for that. The police are the people who must see the inside of that closet. It’s a strange business,” said Gerard, “but I’m more glad than I can say for Treverton’s sake, and for the sake of his lovely young wife. What motive could this Desrolles have had for such a brutal murder?”

Mrs. Evitt shook her head solemnly.

“That’s what I never could make out,” she said, “though I’ve lain awake many a night puzzling myself over it. I know she hadn’t no money⁠—I know that him and her was always friendly, up to the last day of her life. But I’ve got my idea about it.”

“What is your idea?” asked Gerard.

“That it was done when he was out of his mind with delirious tremings.”

“But have you ever seen him mad from the effects of drink?”

“No, never. But how can we tell that it didn’t come upon him sudden in the dead of the night, and work upon him until he got up and rushed downstairs in his madness, and cut that poor thing’s throat.”

“That’s too wild an idea. That a man should be raging mad with delirium tremens between twelve and one o’clock, and perfectly sane at three, is hardly within the range of possibility. No. There must have been a motive, though we cannot fathom it. Well, I thank God that conscience has impelled you to tell the truth at last, late as it is. I shall get you to repeat this statement to Mr. Leopold tomorrow. And now back to bed, and I’ll send Jemima up to you with a cup of good beef tea. God grant that this fellow Desrolles may be found.”

“I hope not,” said Mrs. Evitt. “If they find him they’ll hang him, and he was always a good lodger to me. I’m bound to speak of him as I found him.”

“You wouldn’t speak very well of him if you had found him at your throat with a razor.”

“Ah,” replied the landlady, “I lived in fear and dread of him ever after that horrid time. I’ve woke up in a cold prespiration many a time, fancying that I heard his breathing close beside my bed, though I always slept with my door locked and the kitching table pushed against it. I was right down thankful when he went away, though it was hard upon me to have my second-floor empty⁠—and Queen’s taxes, and all my rates coming in just as regular as when my house was full.”

Gerard insisted on his patient going to bed without further delay. She was flushed and excited by her own revelations, and would have willingly gone on talking till midnight, if her doctor had allowed it. But he wished her good night, and went downstairs to summon the well-meaning Jemima, who was a very good sick nurse, having ministered to a large family of stepbrothers and stepsisters, through teething, measles, chickenpox, mumps, and all the ills that infant flesh is heir to.

George Gerard communicated early next day with Mr. Leopold, and that gentleman came at once to Mrs. Evitt’s bedside, where he had a long and friendly conversation with that lady, who was well enough to be inordinately loquacious. She was quite fascinated by the famous lawyer, whose manners seemed to her the perfection of courtesy, and she remarked afterwards that if her own neck had been in peril she could hardly have refused answer any questions he asked her.

Once master of his facts, at first hand, Mr. Leopold called a hansom, and drove to the shady retreat where his client was languishing in durance. Laura was with her husband when the lawyer came. She started up, pale and agitated, at his entrance, looking to him as the one man who was to save an innocent life.

“Good news,” said Leopold, cheerily.

“Thank God,” murmured Laura, sinking back in her chair.

“We have found the murderer.”

“Found him,” cried Treverton; “how, and where?”

“When I say found, I go rather too far,” said Leopold, “but we know who he is. It’s the man I suspected from the beginning⁠—your second-floor lodger, Desrolles.”

Laura gave a cry of horror.

“You need not pity him, Mrs. Treverton,” said Mr. Leopold. “He’s a thorough-paced scoundrel. I happen to be acquainted with circumstances that throw a light upon his motive