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 did," was his response, "thinking it would be your wish that I
should do no more business to-day."
"Why should you think that?"
"Because of what was passing through Mr. Dowsett's mind."
"I ask you to pardon me for my display of passion. What was Mr.
Dowsett thinking of?"
"Of two very simple matters," said Devlin; "the time of day and an
address. The time was fifteen minutes past three, the address, 28
Athelstan Road."
"Nothing more?" I inquired, much puzzled.
"Nothing more."
I pondered a moment; I could draw no immediate conclusion from
material so bare. I asked Devlin what he could make of it; he replied,
politely, that it was for me, not for him, to make what I could of it.
A suggestion presented itself.
"At fifteen minutes past three," I said, "Mr. Dowsett has an
appointment with some person at 28 Athelstan Road."
"Possibly," said Devlin.
"Have you a 'London Directory'?"
"I have not; nor, I imagine, will you easily find one in this
neighbourhood."
"A simpler plan," I said, "perhaps will be to go to Mr. Dowsett's
house, to which he has most likely returned, and set watch there for
him, keeping ourselves well out of sight. It is now twenty minutes
past one; we can reach his house in ten minutes. He will hardly leave
it for his appointment till two, or a little past. We will follow him
secretly, and ascertain whom he is going to see, and his purpose. I am
determined now to adopt bold measures. Behind this frightful mystery
there is another, which shall be brought to light. You will accompany
me?"
"I am at your orders," said Devlin.
We left the house together, and in the time I specified were within a
few yards of Mr. Dowsett's residence. Aware of the importance of not
attracting attention, I looked about for a means of escaping
observation. Nearly opposite Mr. Dowsett's dwelling was a
public-house, in the first-floor window of which I saw a placard,
"Billiards. Pool." I concluded that it was the window of a
billiard-room, and without hesitation I entered the public-house,
followed by Devlin, and mounted the stairs. The room, as I supposed,
contained a billiard-table; the marker, a very pale and very thin
youth, was practising the spot stroke.
"Billiards, sir?" he asked, as we entered.
"Yes," I said, "we wish to play a private game. How much an hour?"
"Eighteenpence."
"Here are five shillings," I said, "for a couple of hours. We shall
not want you to mark. Don't let us be disturbed."
The pale thin youth took the money, laid down his cue, and left us to
ourselves. When he was gone I placed a chair at an angle against the
handle of the door, there being no key in the lock, and thus prevented
the entrance of any person without notice. It was the leisure time of
the day, and there was little fear of our being disturbed. The extra
gratuity I had given to the marker would insure privacy. As I took my
station at the window, from which Mr. Dowsett's house was in full
view, Devlin nodded approval of my proceedings.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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