"But I didn't go alone; a girl came with me—my wife. And though it's a good few years ago now, the marvel of her sacrifice has increased rather than diminished. For she wasn't my wife when she came, you'll understand. It was just that for some inscrutable reason she had the love for me that passeth understanding—and that love has endured. Heaven knows how; it has been tested pretty high. Starvation, cold, even dirt—I've been through them all. And she's been with me—to make it easier." The queer look in his eyes had gone, and I turned and stared out of the window. There are moments when it is not good to look on a man's face.
"Six months ago," he continued abruptly, "I was starving, cold, and dirty. All three at the same time. I'd tramped the streets the whole day, and you may take it from me that the London streets in December are not pleasant places for anyone in the condition I was in. One begins to see things that aren't there, and hear noises that no one else does. And one begins to understand revolution and riot.
"It was about ten o'clock that I found myself sitting on a chair in one of the parks. How I got there I don't know; my last coherent recollection was passing Romano's, in the Strand, just as a man I had known came out with a girl. They got into a Rolls and drove away, while I would have sold my soul for the bits of bread they hadn't eaten."
He laughed shortly. "Don't worry; I won't bore you any more with that sort of stuff. But I want you to realise the condition I was in; it's rather important. Well—as I said, I found myself on this chair, and for how long I sat there I don't know. It can't have been long, because at eleven o'clock I found myself walking along Great Portland Street. I'd noticed the time on that clock by the Langham, so I'm sure about that. Incidentally, you're making notes of the principal points, aren't you? I'd like you particularly to remember that time.
"I walked on with a curious sense of unreality; you get it, you know, when your stomach is napping against your backbone. And at last I came to Sussex Place. I paused for a bit, and I remember wondering what the deuce I was doing there.
"It was as I was leaning against the railings that I noticed that the curtains of the lower room of the house opposite were blowing about in the open window. It was open at the bottom, and every now and then the flicker of firelight came through the opening. The street was deserted, and the thought occurred to me how easy it would be to get in. Warmth, at any rate; perhaps something small that might be pawned next morning—but warmth.
"Again my memory closes down; I have no recollection whatever of climbing into that house. But I got there, and for the next few minutes nothing mattered except huddling over that fire. Of the risk I ran I thought nothing; when the primitive necessities of life are wanting one doesn't worry over risks.
"At last I got up, and there on the table were sandwiches and drinks. Undoubtedly people who had gone out to some show and were returning later, I reflected. Well, I could only regret that my need was greater than theirs, and that if they had a servant who was careless enough to leave the window open they must take the consequences. And it was as I put out my hand to seize the food that my foot kicked against something under the table.
"You must remember that there was very little light in the room at the time; somewhat naturally I had not turned on the switch. But I can still feel the pricking at the back of my scalp, the sudden start of fear I gave at that unexpected contact. For intuitively I knew that there was something terrible under the table. Don't ask me how; I did. I had to force myself to bend down and look, and even as I did so I saw a thing which froze me where I stood—a dark, ominous pool that gleamed red in the firelight. I backed away step by step until I could see under the table, and then I almost screamed. A man was lying there, and it needed no second glance to tell that he was dead.
"How long I stood there staring at him I can't say, but at last my nerves had steadied themselves enough for me to go and see what had happened. He was lying with his legs under the table, and the rest of his body outside. He had on a smoking-jacket and a soft pleated shirt—the front of which was saturated with blood. His eyes were open and staring, with a look in them of terrible fear. And by his side there lay a fine-pointed stiletto, also covered with blood.
"Once again time stood still. It may have been a minute—it may have been five—before I bent and touched him, to find he was still quite warm. And then unreasoning panic seized me. The thing had only just been done; perhaps not two minutes before I had entered the room. The murderer must be in the house somewhere; possibly in the very room. And once again I almost screamed. I stared round like a trapped animal; my legs were powerless to move. I could realise with one side of my mind the ghastly danger of my position; but my brain wouldn't react as to what I was to do. It was panic—sheer panic."
He took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat from his forehead with a hand that shook like a leaf.
"At last the power of action came back to me, and I took a step towards the window. To get away: that was my sole coherent thought. And I had actually got one leg over the sill, when suddenly the room was flooded with light and a woman stepped out from behind a screen near the door. She was staring at me calmly and dispassionately, and for a moment or two I stared back, taking in every detail of her face. It was beautiful—one of the most beautiful I have ever seen—but cold and hard. And then, even as I watched her, a faint triumphant smile curled round her lips. She took one look at the thing that lay sprawling on the floor, and then, quite deliberately, she screamed."
He leaned towards me, and the light was blazing in his eyes again. "Make a strong note of that, my friend; emphasise it in every possible way. Her scream was not due to what she saw: she knew it was there: she had known all along. I could read her mind, I tell you; I could trace every thought in that cold, calculating brain. It was she who had killed that man herself, and it was I who was to pay the penalty. I could see it as clearly as I see you now.
"She screamed again and again, and, by God, she could act. Her face now was distraught with horror as she stood there flattened against the wall. I heard footsteps outside in the hall, I saw the door opening, and then with one desperate effort I flung myself through the window and jumped. Jumped straight into the arms of a waiting policeman.
"'Let me go,' I yelled. 'I'm innocent. She did it.'
"'Maybe she did,' came a gruff voice. 'But we can't have you shouting in the Park like this. Wake up, and get a move on.'
"I was still sitting on the chair in the Park." He paused and, stretching out his hand, he took a cigarette. "May I?" he asked quietly.
"Of course," I answered. "Help yourself. But do you mean to tell me that all this song and dance you've been telling me was nothing but a dream?"
"Nothing but a dream—a terrible dream—until today. And so you wonder, don't you, wherein lies the connection between it and my behaviour in church? You shall hear. The man who was murdered in my dream was a man whom I had never seen before. He was a complete stranger to me—he is still. But today I saw him. What twist of Fate took me past that church I know not; but it's all in keeping, I tell you—all in keeping. The murdered man was today's bridegroom."
I stared at him speechlessly: there didn't seem to be anything to say.
"Mark you, sir," he went on gravely, "this is no question of hallucination. I make no attempt to explain it. For months that dream has been just a dream, though vivid to the point of reality in my mind. And this afternoon I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the murdered man going into that church. I waited: I couldn't help it. I had to see the bride.
"I never had any doubt; during the quarter of an hour I stood there I never had any doubt. And when the woman who had stepped out from behind the screen stepped out of her car and took her father's arm it caused me no surprise. It seemed to me to be inevitable.
"And then—I wonder if you will understand?—I seemed to feel the coils of Fate closing down on me. I felt I must make a desperate effort to shake myself free, before it was too late. And some blind impulse stronger than me drove me into the church