Richard Marsh

“ It was only a little one, so slight a sound that the wonder was that, in my then mental state, I heard it at all. But I did; and, what was more, I recognised it, too. It was the click of a catch, a window-catch. It came from the house which I was passing. I glanced round. There, on the newly painted pillar, visible even in the darkness, was the number—20. In an instant I was through the gate and was flashing my bull's-eye on to the premises.
I had not been mistaken. There, on the sill of the bow window on the first floor, was a man. ”

“ Philip Turndall would have been regarded as an injured innocent.
Unfortunately, his game was spoiled by my happening to hear the click of the window-catch. It must have been an awkward moment for him when I flashed my bull's-eye upon him as he crouched upon the window-sill. No wonder he perspired; the marvel was that he should have kept so cool. The kit-bag must have been in the garden all the time. ”

“ He certainly did not present the type of figure which one generally associates with burglary. He was a very big man. Even in the crouching attitude which he necessarily assumed upon the window-sill, still I guessed him at over six feet. He seemed to be well dressed. At that time of night he wore a top-hat and kid gloves. He looked like a gentleman. I was presently to learn that he spoke like one.
"I'm burgling my own house," he answered.
"Burgling your own house? What do you mean? Do you live here?"
"I do. My name is Walter Parsons, and I am the occupier of these premises." ”

“ No. 20 was damaged, but not destroyed; Mr. Turndall had been interrupted. Mr. Parsons managed to drag things out of the quicksands amidst which his partner had got them. I understand that his firm has a high reputation in London to-day. He never took another partner. And every year since he has sent me something in recognition of the festive season.
My boy—he was my last-born as well as my first-born, for we have never had another child—is now a policeman, like his father was.
So now you understand how it is that, to this hour, whenever I see a kit-bag, a curious feeling goes all over me. ”

“ It was my sergeant's voice. I could not have said, just at the moment, if I was glad to hear it, or sorry.
"That's what I'm trying to find out. Do you know if anyone lives here of the name of Parsons—Walter Parsons?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Is he a tall, big-made man, with a heavy moustache?"
"There is a gentleman lives here named Walter Parsons, but he's not in the least like your description. I know him well by sight. He's a very little man, with a brown beard; I don't suppose he's over five feet high." ”

“ Walter Parsons," and make it even—and a trifle over—with him. I was not proposing to let any man get me treated as if I were a half-baked sawney for nothing at all. There are those, maybe, who let people jump on them, and ask for more. But I am not one.
By the time the gentleman from next door put in an appearance on the scene, I was as nearly bursting with rage as I ever was in the whole course of my life. In another second or two, I should have had to open a safety-valve to let something off.
"Got the key?" asked the sergeant.
"Yes, I have the key. And I also have a bad cold. ”

“ I expect the chap who is inside has let it go, and trapped the latch to make things surer. He doesn't want anyone else to get in too easily while he's there." Ives turned to me. "You'll have to follow him the way he went—through the window."
In under half a minute I was on the sill—the one on which I had first caught sight of "Mr. Walter Parsons." I had my clasp-knife open and had slipped the catch of the window inside a minute. Extraordinary how insecurely windows are fastened. There is not one in a hundred which would present any difficulty to a boy who has just been breeched. ”

“ I left the bag still in sole possession of the booking-office and hurried off to the station-house, for, as it turned out, my watch was a trifle slow. I went out with the rest of the chaps who were on the night shift.
Part of my beat lay past a row of houses which was called Quarnley Terrace. Decent sized houses they were, standing back from the road. A strip of ground was in front of each, shut off from the public by a low stuccoed wall, surmounted by stuccoed pilasters. ”

“ I suppose, looking back, the stuff in the whisky, the feeling I had been done, the tumble I had had, the dirt which I had picked up from the pavement—all these things together had got into my head and caused me to make a bit of an ass of myself. It is not part of a policeman's duty to stand in the middle of the pavement and shake his fist at people's houses, no matter what provocation he may have received. ”

“ A man who would hocus a drink would be game for anything. But though I stood still for a moment or two, to give him a chance, nothing happened. Then, flattering myself that I was prepared for anything, I began to move through the gate into the pitch-black garden. Still nothing. I listened. If my gentleman were hiding among the shrubs, then he kept very still. ”

“ Walter Parsons, you can't be asleep already, so it's no good pretending that you are. And you must have heard that knock. So you may as well take the trouble to come and see who's here. But if you won't, I'll try again."
I tried again. I brought the knocker down against the door three or four times—good, hearty blows. Still there was no sign to show that the noise I made had been audible within. I went down the steps, intending to run over the front of the house once more with in y bull's-eye, to see if anyone were peeping at me through a window, or anything of that sort. ”

“ Altogether, I was in a pretty state of mind; because, after all, though some people do not seem to think so, a policeman is a man. I had arranged with them at home that I should be at certain points at certain times. If anything happened, they were to bring me news at once. One of these points was the corner of Quarnley Terrace. ”

“ The man you let go through the window is no more Mr. Parsons than I am. It strikes me you've done a pretty nice thing, my lad. What we've got to do now is to find out who your friend is, and where he is."
Mounting the steps in his turn, the sergeant played a lively tune upon the knocker. While we were waiting for the answer which did not come, he kept shooting questions at me, commenting on my answers in a way which made me turn hot and cold at once. Sergeant Ives was a smart officer; he got nearly to the top of the tree in the force before he died ”

“ If it had been his intention to return to-night, he would certainly have let me know."
"Someone who calls himself Walter Parsons, and who says that the caretaker has gone out, and that he left his key behind, not long ago got into the house through the window."
"Caretaker! key! There is no caretaker; and the key's in my charge. Some member of my family goes into the house each day to see that everything's all right." ”

“ So he picked up his partner off the floor and packed him into a brand new kit-bag which he might have bought for that special purpose. Parsons was small; the bag was large. Neatly folded up into a compact parcel by Turndall's vigorous hands, room was found for him, though probably no live man was ever confined in closer quarters. Some time after the shades of night had fallen, with the kit-bag in one hand, and something containing methylated spirit in the other, Mr. Turndall went across London to his friend's residence at No. 20, Quarnley Terrace. ”

“ John's Wood railway station to compare their clock with mine. The last train must have just come in. They seemed to be on the point of closing the premises. The booking-office was empty, with the exception of one thing, a kit-bag. ”

“ This was backed—at least, in most cases—by a tree or two, some shrubs, and that kind of thing, the whole forming an effectual screen.
My wife had been ill all day, and when I came away was worse. If I had not known that it would mean trouble, I should have stayed with her. ”