“ ’Ere y’are! Charin’ Cross, sir. Wake up, guv’nor, please.”
The passenger did not stir. His arm dropped inertly by his side, and as the driver relaxed his hold, he swayed forward, and, before the mishap could be prevented, fell heavily upon the cushions opposite, and rolled upon the floor.
“He must be ill,” the driver exclaimed to himself in alarm.
Then stooping, he seized the prostrate man round the waist, and with some difficulty succeeded in dragging him to his feet and replacing him upon the seat.
As he did so he felt his fingers come into contact with some wet, sticky substance. Holding his hand against the dim oil lamp, he examined it closely.
“Blood, by God!” he gasped.
Glancing quickly down at the feet of the inanimate man, he noticed for the first time a small, dark pool, beside which lay a white handkerchief.
In a moment the terrible truth dawned upon him.
Vaguely apprehensive of foul play, he pulled aside the overcoat, and placed his hand upon the heart of the prostrate man.
There was no movement.
“Hullo, Teddy, what’s up? Any one would think you were robbing the chap,” shouted a voice jocosely at the door.
The driver started, and, looking up, saw his conductor who, having taken a shorter route than the omnibus by walking along Pall Mall, across the north side of Trafalgar Square, and entering Duncannon Street from the opposite end, had just arrived.
“Bill,” replied the driver in an awe-stricken tone, his face wearing a scared look, “there’s something wrong here. I believe the gent’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes. Come here.”
The conductor grew pale, and got into the conveyance beside his companion.
“Look! that’s blood,” the latter said, pointing to the floor.
“You’re joking,” the other replied incredulously, bending down to examine it.
“ ’Pon my honour I’m not. There’s some on my hand here. Besides, his heart doesn’t beat.”
Leaning hastily forward, the conductor pressed his hand to the passenger’s breast. He quickly withdrew it, admitting that such indeed was the case.
“But what can be wrong with him, Ted? He looks like a gentleman,” he added in amazement.
“I can’t tell. In this ’ere light it’s impossible to see.”
Striking a vesta, the conductor held it close to the man’s coat. As it shed its light in fitful gleams, their eager eyes at once discerned a small hole in the breast, from which blood was slowly oozing.
Both drew back in dismay.
“He’s been stabbed?” the man who held the match exclaimed in a low, terrified voice. “See, the overcoat must have been opened first, as it isn’t pierced.”
The victim had been wounded in the heart, struck by a steady hand, and evidently with great violence.
They stood aghast at the horrifying discovery.
“What do you think of it, Bill?” asked the old driver timorously.
“Murder, without a doubt.”
“I wonder whether this will give any clue to the murderer?” the elder man said, picking up the handkerchief.
It was a lady’s—a small square of fine cambric with a delicate border of lace.
“Let’s look,” exclaimed his companion, taking it in his hands, and holding it to the lamp.
“Any mark on it?”
“No, nothing,” he replied. “There’s some funny scent on it, though,” he added, placing it nearer his nose.
“Good heavens, Bill, what shall we do?” ejaculated the driver, thoroughly alarmed at the startling discovery.
“Call the police at once. Wait here a minute, and I’ll fetch a constable,” the other replied, getting out of the omnibus, and running to the corner of the Strand, where an officer is constantly stationed on point duty.
Already a small crowd had collected, for the cabmen from the shelter opposite had quickly discerned that something unusual had occurred, and, on learning of the crime, grouped themselves around the vehicle in a state of great excitement, and eager to obtain a glimpse of the corpse.
A minute later the conductor returned with two constables. These were immediately followed by a detective-sergeant, who chanced to be passing, and another constable. The detective himself was astounded, although he had been present on more than one occasion when bodies had been found.
The circumstances having been briefly explained, he despatched one of the men to Agar Street for the hospital ambulance, and gave other orders, which were executed with obedience and promptitude.
“Do you know the gentleman by sight?” asked the detective of the conductor, as they both stood gazing upon the body, awaiting the arrival of the ambulance.
“No, I’ve never seen him before,” the man replied; “and the strangest part of the affair is, that when I got off at the Haymarket corner he wasn’t inside. There were two gentlemen in the ’bus.”
“They got out at Spring Gardens,” interrupted the driver. “I stopped for them.”
“Then he must have entered immediately afterwards,” remarked the detective thoughtfully.
“Yes, that’s the only way I can account for it.”
“It is certainly an extraordinary case,” the officer said, bending down and re-examining the dead man’s wound. “From the time he got into the ’bus until you discovered him dead could not have been more than six or seven minutes?”
“Not so much,” replied the driver. “I generally reckon it takes four minutes from Dent’s to the corner here, including the stoppage in front of the lions.”
“But you didn’t pull up there to-night?”
“No, because I was not aware I had any fare inside.”
“Ah?” exclaimed the detective confidently. “The murder was evidently cleverly planned, and the assassin has got away very neatly indeed.”
“It couldn’t be suicide, could it?” suggested one of the constables.
“Impossible, for the knife has disappeared. But here’s the ambulance; we must remove the body and disperse the crowd.”
At that moment a hansom, which had turned from the Strand towards Pall Mall, was compelled to pull up owing to the throng of eager onlookers which had now become so augmented as to reach across the road.
Pushing up the flap in the roof with his walking-stick, the fare, a well-dressed and rather handsome young man, whose face bore that frank, good-humoured expression which always impresses favourably, asked—“What’s the fuss, cabby?”
“Can’t exactly make out, sir,” replied the man. “They say a murder’s been committed.”
“Somebody murdered!” he exclaimed in surprise. “By Jove, a crime in a ’bus isn’t a sight to be witnessed every day. Wait over there, cabby, opposite the church. I’ll go and have a look.”
Alighting, he quickly made his way through the excited crowd. As he edged in towards the omnibus, two constables, who had just lifted the body out, were placing it carefully upon the stretcher, for a doctor had already made an examination and pronounced that death had been almost instantaneous.