Devlin the BarberFarjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
General
Devlin the Barber
Farjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
Detective and mystery stories; English fiction -- 19th century
I went down to Devlin, and acquainted him with the result of my
investigation.
"Quite as I expected," he said. "Let them go for the present. Our
concern is with the man inside. I am going to put my scheme into
operation. What is the time?"
"Five minutes past two," I replied, looking at my watch.
"In capital time," said Devlin. "Wait you here until half-past two.
Then go in to Mr. Dowsett, and apologise to him for the indignity to
which he has been subjected. He will fume and threaten; let him. Be
you humble and contrite, and say that you are very, very sorry. Throw
all the blame upon me: say that I have deceived you, imposed upon you,
robbed you--anything that comes to your mind. To me it matters not; it
will assist our scheme. There is no fear of Mr. Dowsett not waiting
till you go in to him; he is frightened out of his life. Your humble
attitude will give him courage; he will think himself safe."
"I cannot imagine," I said, "how this will help us."
"Don't imagine," said Devlin curtly. "Leave all to me. The first thing
Mr. Dowsett will do when he finds himself free will be to go up to the
rooms in which he left the three women who accompanied him here.
Meanwhile, you will keep watch outside the house; but on no account
must he see you. Trust to me for the rest."
He had served me so faithfully up to this point that I trusted him
unhesitatingly. As he had prophesied, Mr. Dowsett kept quiet within
the room. Listening at the door, I heard him moving softly about, but
he made no attempt to come out. At half-past two I entered the room,
and followed Devlin's instructions to the letter. Mr. Dowsett, his
courage restored, immediately began to bluster and threaten. I
listened submissively, and made pretence of being greatly distressed.
When he had exhausted himself, I left him with further profuse
expressions of regret, and as I issued from the house I saw him
mounting the stairs to his wife's apartments.
Emerging into the Rue de la Paix, I planted myself in a spot from
which I had a clear view of the house, and was myself concealed from
observation. Scarcely was I settled in my position when I saw a man,
with a telegram in his hand, enter the house. He remained there a very
few moments, and then came out and walked away, having, presumably,
delivered his message. Within a space of five minutes, Mr. Dowsett,
holding the telegram, came forth, and, casting sharp glances around,
quickly left the Rue de la Paix. Before he had turned the corner,
Devlin joined me, humming a French song. Together we followed Mr.
Dowsett at a safe distance.
"My scheme is alive," he said.
I asked him to explain it to me.
"You saw the messenger," he said, "enter with a telegram. You saw him
leave without it. You saw Mr. Dowsett come out with the telegram. It
was from his wife."
"From his wife?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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