I was mystified at the moment, but I found later that he suspected me of
having had an opium dream. The house, I learned, was frequented by the
“opium fiends,” as they figure in police slang.
“It's a nasty place,” he continued. “It's lucky I've got a light.” He
brought up a dark lantern from his overcoat pocket, and stood in the
shelter of the building as he lighted it. “There's not many as carries
'em,” he continued, “but they're mighty handy at times.”
We made our way to the point beneath the window, where the men had
stood.
There was nothing to be seen--no sign of struggle, no shred of torn
clothing, no drop of blood. Body, traces and all had disappeared.
CHAPTER III
A QUESTION IN THE NIGHT
I was stricken dumb at this end to the investigation, and half doubted
the evidence of my eyes.
“Well,” said the policeman, with a sigh of relief, “there's nothing
here.”
I suspected that his doubts of my sanity were returning.
“Here is where it was done,” I asserted stoutly, pointing to the spot
where I had seen the struggling group from the window. “There were
surely five or six men in it.”
The policeman turned his lantern on the spot. The rough pavement had
taken no mark of the scuffle.
“It's hard to make sure of things from above in this light,” said the
policeman, hinting once more his suspicion that I was confusing dreams
with reality.
“There was no mistaking that job,” I said. “See here, the alley leads
farther back. Bring your light.”
“Aisy, now,” said the policeman. “I'll lead the way. Maybe you want one
yourself, as your friend has set the fashion.”
A few paces farther the alley turned at a right angle to the north,
yawning dark behind the grim and threatening buildings, and filled with
noisome odors. We looked narrowly for a body, and then for traces that
might give hint of the passage of a party.
“Nothing here,” said the policeman, as we came out on the other street.
“Maybe they've carried him into one of these back-door dens, and maybe
they whisked him into a hack here, and are a mile or two away by now.”
“But we must follow them. He may be only wounded and can be rescued. And
these men can be caught.” I was almost hysterical in my eagerness.
“Aisy, aisy, now,” said the policeman. “Go back to your room, now.
That's the safest place for you, and you can't do nothin' at all out
here. I'll report the case to the head office, an' we'll send out the
alarm to the force. Now, here's your door. Just rest aisy, and they'll
let you know if anything's found.”
And he passed on, leaving me dazed with dread and despair in the
entrance of the fateful house.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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