CHAPTER III.--A HOUSE OF THIEVES

The house in front of which they had stopped seemed empty. At least, the hurried, agitated glance which Mrs Bankes cast up and down failed to discover any sign of a light at either of the windows. She had not, however, much time allowed her for inspection. Her companion, gripping her arm with uncomfortable firmness, drew her towards the door, which she opened with a key held in her other hand. So soon as it was opened she drew Mrs Bankes inside with a force and suddenness which almost precipitated that lady headforemost on to the floor. Instantly the door was slammed, and Mrs Bankes found herself standing with the stranger in pitchy blackness. Nor did the sound of the other's voice add to her sense of comfort.

"Now I've done what I was told to do,--I've brought you safe. You'd better be on your best behaviour, or you'll quickly find yourself in worse trouble than you are already. Come this way." The woman dragged her along what seemed to be a passage. "Here's the stairs--up you go."

And up Mrs Bankes went, pushed and pulled up the unseen staircase in a way which was more than a little disconcerting. They reached what was apparently a landing. The stranger, throwing open a door, disclosed a room, immediately in front of them.

"In you go."

And in Mrs Bankes did go, propelled by a well-directed push from the rear. When she was in, the door was pulled to behind her. She heard the key turned in the lock outside. Retreating footsteps were distinctly audible. In a state of bewilderment, which was unlike anything she had ever been conscious of before, she glanced about her. She found herself in a small room, whose entire furniture consisted of a solitary wooden chair--and the back of that was broken. There was neither carpet nor table. The dirty, tawdry paper was peeling off the walls. The sole illumination proceeded from a candle stuck in a broken, battered tin candlestick, which stood upon the greasy mantelshelf.

She seated herself on the solitary chair. Her life was ordinarily placid and uneventful. So much of the unexpected had been crowded into the last few hours that her mental faculties were in a state of seemingly inexplicable confusion. This was running away with a vengeance! This was indeed playing with dignity the part of outraged and indignant wife! This was a pleasant prelude to the Christmas season! Where was she? Of what extraordinary misunderstanding was she the subject? For whom had she been mistaken? What had the other person done? What was the fate which was awaiting her? Or was it not possible that there had been no misunderstanding at all; but that her credulity had been played upon; that she had been tricked into entering a den of criminals, where she was destined to be the victim of some horrible outrage?

As she asked herself these and similar questions, to which she sought in vain for answers, she became conscious, all at once, of the sound of voices. She looked about her, and perceived for the first time that the apartment had two doors--the one through which she had entered and another immediately facing it. This second door had been covered with paper of the same pattern as that which was on the walls; and it was this peculiarity, probably, which had caused its existence to hitherto escape Mrs Bankes' notice. A moment's attention made plain the fact that it was through this door that the sound of voices came. Edith hesitated. Eavesdropping was not to her taste; but in circumstances such as hers she was surely entitled to take advantage of anything which might tend to elucidate the position she was in, or which would prepare her for whatever danger threatened. She stood close up to the door.

Apparently there was a room beyond. There seemed to be several speakers. They were engaged in an animated discussion. She could distinguish the tones of at least three voices. Presently distinct words and phrases began to reach her ears.

"If I had my way I'd cut the heart clean out of her."

She shuddered. Could the reference be to her? The expression of opinion seemingly met with the approbation of its hearers. Another voice became audible--coarse, rough, threatening, and yet, unless Mrs Bankes erred, its proprietor was feminine. Indeed to her it appeared that all the speakers were women.

"That's what I say. Let's make short work of her. No cackle, and no beating about the bush. She's done us, we'll do her--and waste no time about it either!" A third voice followed. "That's right; then let's have her in and get through with it as soon as possible."

The proposition seemed to be approved. Steps were heard approaching the door against which the listener stood. A key was turned. The door was flung open.

"Now then!--in here! and look sharp about it too!"

The words were addressed to Mrs Bankes as if she had been a dog. She shrank back. The command was repeated.

"Do you hear? Out you come! Or have I to fetch you? No nonsense, or it'll be the worse for you!"

As best she could, Mrs Bankes drew herself together.

"You are making some mistake," she said, and went into the other room.

She was conscious that her entry created some emotion which was akin to surprise. There were four women. They all looked at her with something very like astonishment; as if this pretty, graceful girl, every inch of her unmistakably a lady, dressed in such perfect taste, forming altogether such a pleasant picture for the eye to rest upon, was hardly the sort of person they had expected to see. And yet she was conscious that their amazement was not by any means of an agreeable nature; that it did not tend to make their feeling towards her one whit more cordial. On the contrary, in the rapid glances which they exchanged one with the other there was a rancorous gleam which suggested that a fresh element of personal dislike had been generated in their bosoms by the mere sight of her.

Her entrance was followed by an interval of silence, which was broken by Edith repeating her former assertions with such show of courage as she was capable of.

"There has been some mistake. If you will allow me, I think I can explain quite easily how it has happened. It is all owing to my foolish hastiness. I am quite willing to admit that the fault has been in great part mine."

Her offer to elucidate the situation, or, at any rate, the part which she had played in it, made with all humility, was not greeted with any show of heartiness. Rather the faces in front of her hardened, as if her words added fuel to the fire of their resentment.

"You're a pretty piece, upon my word! You look a fine lady, and no error! Anyone would think you were one, to hear you talk. You impudent cat, to try to carry it off with us. You shut your mouth, and don't you speak unless you're spoken to, or we'll soon shut it for you, and don't you make any mistake, my beauty. You forget where you are, and what you're here for."

"I assure you--"

"Catch her a clap over the jaw."

In obedience to the request, the woman who had bade her enter the room struck her in the mouth, with her clenched fist, with such violence that she reeled back, and all but fell to the floor. Her brain seemed to reel in harmony with her body. Never before in the whole course of her life had she been struck a blow. No action could have revealed to her more clearly the sort of company she was in.

Three of the women into whose presence she had been so unceremoniously introduced, were seated round a table whose jagged and time-stained surface was covered with a cloth. The one who had been the instigating cause of what seemed to Edith such an entirely unprovoked assault, was a short, thick-set woman of between forty and fifty years of age. She was dressed with a cheap flashiness which served to emphasise her natural vulgarity. Her cheeks were red; her eyes were small though bold; on her upper lip was more than the suggestion of a moustache. She looked like the not too respectable wife of some disreputable small publican; a likeness which was rendered the more obvious by the accident of her having in her hand a glass which was half filled with the drink of which, plainly enough, her soul was over-fond. On her left was a tall, scraggy woman, of about the same age, clad in rusty widow's weeds. She, like her companion, wore a bonnet, but hers was an emblem of the deepest woe. Even her hands were cased in black. Anyone seeing her casually would have taken her for the widow of some struggling tradesman, who, now that she was left alone in the world, had taken, as a last resource, to letting lodgings. The expression of her face was not an agreeable one; and no judge of character, who had once had a good look at it, would willingly have accepted her as a landlady. She had high cheek-bones; hollow, sallow cheeks, as though her side teeth had departed from their places; a long, pointed nose; wide, shapeless mouth, and she kept her thin lips tightly closed. She was not the sort of woman into whose sympathetic ears one would have been disposed to pour a tale of woe. And it was surprising, when she spoke, how disagreeable her voice sounded,--as if her small, mean, rasping nature had even got the better of her vocal organs.

But it was on the third person seated at the table that Edith's attention was, half unconsciously, chiefly centred. This she instinctively felt was the leading spirit present in the room, the one in whose hands her fate principally rested. The woman was of so distinct and even curious a personality that one wondered by what chance she found herself in such a gallery. She was so small as to be almost diminutive; but she was both young and pretty. One might wonder how much her fair hair, and the bloom on her cheeks, owed to artifice; but there could be no doubt as to the well-shaped mouth, the pouting lips, the dainty aquiline nose, the big bright eyes, shaded by unusually long lashes, and piquant, arched eyebrows. Yet it was in her eyes, charming though they were, that one read most clearly the storm warnings of her character. There was in them something daring, wild, relentless, suggestive of the masculine adventurer, to whom the world is an oyster, to be opened by the sharp blade of his keen wits.

She was oddly dressed, with a profusion of chiffons which became her small form peculiarly well. So far, Edith had not heard her voice, but, as Mrs Bankes reeled before the force of her assailant's blow, she broke into a peal of hearty laughter, which, under the circumstances, seemed out of place as proceeding from those pretty lips.

"Poor thing! She doesn't seem to like it! Give her another; teach her how to swallow a tooth or two."

But even the creature who had struck her seemed to shrink from a display of such gratuitous brutality.

"There's plenty more where that came from, and I expect she'll have 'em before I've done with her. But for the present I daresay she'll find that that's enough--it'll give her a taste of what's to follow."

Edith, regarding the speaker, realised what a typical virago she was, almost masculine in build, big and broad, slovenly in her attire; her draggled bonnet was a little on one side of her head, and her black serge dress covered with stains. To Mrs Bankes' frightened eyes, the lust of combat was written largely over her.

"I've got no time to waste. Let's put the slut through her paces, and have done with her. The sooner we're shut of her the better I'll be pleased."

It was the woman who resembled a publican's wife who spoke. No one said her nay. She spoke to Edith.

"First of all, hand over what you've got."

Edith stared at her bewildered. "Hand over what I've got? I don't understand. I've got nothing."

The woman brought down the palm of her hand with a bang upon the table.

"No blarney, hand over what you've got, before we take it from you."

"All I have is in there."

The young wife held out her purse with a trembling hand. The virago, snatching it from her, subjected its contents to a rude examination.

"Here's a card, a bill, two stamps, and a threepenny bit,--and that's all."

"That's all I have--every penny. I give you my word it is."

The four women stared at her, as if the surprise caused by her statement had deprived them of their power of speech. It was the publican's wife who was the first to find her tongue.

"Of all the beauties I ever heard of!--if you haven't got the cheek of fifty! Why, you yourself sent word that you'd got about four hundred pounds' worth!"

"I sent word? Four hundred pounds' worth of what?"

The lady became, on a sudden, very angry. "If you try that on with me, you two-faced cat, I'll smash your face in with my own hands!"

The little woman poured oil on the troubled waters--in a fashion of her own.

"Let's begin calmly, at any rate. Let me deal with this person, we may arrive at an understanding quicker that way--she seems to require understanding." She addressed herself to Edith, in a manner which that lady found sufficiently startling. "We will begin at the beginning. That will prevent our leaving anything in obscurity. There seems to be a good deal of obscurity about just now. You will remember that when you came out of Wandsworth jail--"

Mrs Bankes stared, and well she might.

"When I came out of Wandsworth jail!"

"Yes, when you came out of Wandsworth jail. You seem prepared to deny a good many things, but I take it that you can hardly be disposed to deny that you did come out of Wandsworth jail."

At that moment Mrs Bankes was prepared to deny nothing. Her tongue was parched and dry. It seemed to her that she must be suffering from nightmare, and that these things were taking place in some horrible dream. The speaker went on, as calmly and quietly as if she were treating of the most ordinary subjects in the most commonplace manner; yet there was a glitter in her eyes which did not promise well for the person she was addressing.

"I say that you will remember that when you came out of Wandsworth jail, as you have come out of other jails in the course of your not uneventful career, you were introduced, by a certain individual, to our society. Our rules and regulations were explained to you; you expressed yourself as being satisfied; you subscribed to them; you became a member. Not one of us who is here present has had the pleasure of meeting you personally before, or I am sure that we should have congratulated ourselves on securing so promising a recruit to our little circle. I do not flatter you when I assure you that you look a really ideal thief, capable of practising your profession to the utmost advantage in the best of good society."

Mrs Bankes shivered.

The speaker smiled.

The others only glared.

"When it was proposed to annex the Denyer jewels--"

"The Denyer jewels?"

Mrs Bankes gasped. A sudden gleam of light began to glimmer through the mist--a dreadful gleam.

"You seem fond of echoing my words! I say that when it was proposed to annex the Denyer jewels, you immediately volunteered to carry the business through. Your offer was accepted. You were provided with every necessary, and, if one may judge from your appearance, with a few luxuries as well; you were sent down to Colchester--all at our expense--and a place was found for you in Lady Denyer's household. Certain persons were associated with you in the enterprise, and among them, Mary Griffiths."

"Mary Griffiths?"

Fresh light was gaining access to the lady's bewildered brain, light which was growing more and more lurid.

"You may well start, and look uncomfortable at the mention of Mary Griffiths' name, especially when you reflect on the position she is now in, owing to your--shall we call it, discreet behaviour? You informed us that all was going on well, and yet, on the night on which you, yourself, had arranged that the _coup_ should be brought off, almost immediately Mary Griffiths gained access to the house she was arrested. When we asked you to explain, you were so good as to tell us that it was absolutely necessary to allow her to be arrested in order to draw suspicion off yourself, and, by way of solace, you added the information that you had, at any rate, got hold of four hundred pounds' worth of her ladyship's jewels. From all we learnt we could not but suppose that you had made a slight mistake, and that by four hundred you meant four thousand. Jewels to the value of more than four thousand pounds appear to have gone; if you have not got them, then who has? The question is rather a nice one, don't you think?"

The speaker paused as if for a reply. None came. Mrs Bankes was trembling in every limb. She perceived, even more clearly than those in front of her, how close she was standing to the brink of a chasm.

"When we perceived your reluctance to communicate with us, our doubts as to your perfect trustworthiness began to amount to something stronger than suspicion--particularly when we learnt that, not content with betraying Mary Griffiths, you proposed to betray us too; to slip away to a quiet little shelter of your own, and there have a good time on the proceeds of the property which, whosesoever it was, had been procured, so far as you were concerned, very much at our expense. So, since it had clearly become a question of diamond cut diamond, we contrived a little scheme by means of which we hoped to lure you up to town. Our little scheme has succeeded even beyond our expectations. You came to town; you came here; and now that we have got you here, you may take my word for it that we don't mean to let you go till we have had an opportunity of crying quits. First of all, hand over those jewels. Not, you understand, four hundred, but four thousand pounds' worth."

"But I haven't got them. I assure you--"

"Silence! We don't want any of your assurances, we don't want words from you of any sort or kind. I fancy that at talk we should find you more than a match for us. I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to ask you to hand over those jewels, and if you don't hand them over at once, to our satisfaction, we're going to strip you. If we don't find them concealed in your clothing, as, for my part, I think we probably shall do, we're going to find out where they are concealed, if we have to kill you to do it. I tell you, frankly, that I should have as little compunction in killing you as I should have in killing a snake which had tried to bite me. For such as you, plain killing is too good. Hand over those jewels."

"I have no jewels! For God's sake, listen to me! There is some dreadful mistake."

"That's enough of that. Penfold, strip her. I daresay you can manage her single-handed; but if you want assistance, I shall be happy to give you mine."

The virago, addressed as Penfold, grinned, not agreeably.

"I sha'n't want assistance, not with the likes of her. I can handle her as easy as if she was a baby."