He was just leaving a
house.' 'Did you notice what house it was?' 'Yes. It was Mrs. Beaumont's.' 'Villiers! Think what you are saying; there must be some mistake. How
could Crashaw be in Mrs. Beaumont's house at two o'clock in the morning? Surely, surely, you must have been dreaming, Villiers, you were always
rather fanciful.' 'No; I was wide awake enough. Even if I had been dreaming as you say,
what I saw would have roused me effectually.' 'What you saw? What did you see? Was there anything strange about
Crashaw? But I can't believe it; it is impossible.' 'Well, if you like I will tell you what I saw, or if you please, what I
think I saw, and you can judge for yourself.' 'Very good, Villiers.' The noise and clamour of the street had died away, though now and then
the sound of shouting still came from the distance, and the dull, leaden
silence seemed like the quiet after an earthquake or a storm. Villiers
turned from the window and began speaking. 'I was at a house near Regent's Park last night, and when I came away
the fancy took me to walk home instead of taking a hansom. It was a
clear pleasant night enough, and after a few minutes I had the streets
pretty much to myself. It's a curious thing, Austin, to be alone in
London at night, the gas-lamps stretching away in perspective, and the
dead silence, and then perhaps the rush and clatter of a hansom on the
stones, and the fire starting up under the horse's hoofs. I walked along
pretty briskly, for I was feeling a little tired of being out in the
night, and as the clocks were striking two I turned down Ashley Street,
which, you know, is on my way. It was quieter than ever there, and the
lamps were fewer; altogether, it looked as dark and gloomy as a forest
in winter. I had done about half the length of the street when I heard a
door closed very softly, and naturally I looked up to see who was abroad
like myself at such an hour. As it happens, there is a street lamp close
to the house in question, and I saw a man standing on the step. He had
just shut the door and his face was towards me, and I recognized Crashaw
directly. I never knew him to speak to, but I had often seen him, and I
am positive that I was not mistaken in my man. I looked into his face
for a moment, and then--I will confess the truth--I set off at a good
run, and kept it up till I was within my own door.' 'Why?' 'Why? Because it made my blood run cold to see that man's face. I could
never have supposed that such an infernal medley of passions could have
glared out of any human eyes; I almost fainted as I looked. I knew I had
looked into the eyes of a lost soul, Austin, the man's outward form
remained, but all hell was within it. Furious lust, and hate that was
like fire, and the loss of all hope and horror that seemed to shriek
aloud to the night, though his teeth were shut; and the utter blackness
of despair. I am sure he did not see me; he saw nothing that you or I
can see, but he saw what I hope we never shall. I do not know when he
died; I suppose in an hour, or perhaps two, but when I passed down
Ashley Street and heard the closing door, that man no longer belonged to
this world; it was a devil's face I looked upon.' There was an interval of silence in the room when Villiers ceased
speaking. The light was failing, and all the tumult of an hour ago was
quite hushed. Austin had bent his head at the close of the story, and
his hand covered his eyes. 'What can it mean?' he said at length. 'Who knows, Austin, who knows? It's a black business, but I think we had
better keep it to ourselves, for the present at any rate. I will see if
I cannot learn anything about that house through private channels of
information, and if I do light upon anything I will let you know.' VII

THE ENCOUNTER IN SOHO

Three weeks later Austin received a note from Villiers, asking him to
call either that afternoon or the next. He chose the nearer date, and
found Villiers sitting as usual by the window, apparently lost in
meditation on the drowsy traffic of the street. There was a bamboo table
by his side, a fantastic thing, enriched with gilding and queer painted
scenes, and on it lay a little pile of papers arranged and docketed as
neatly as anything in Mr. Clarke's office. 'Well, Villiers, have you made any discoveries in the last three weeks?' 'I think so; I have here one or two memoranda which struck me as
singular, and there is a statement to which I shall call your
attention.' 'And these documents relate to Mrs. Beaumont? It was really Crashaw whom
you saw that night standing on the doorstep of the house in Ashley
Street?' 'As to that matter my belief remains unchanged, but neither my inquiries
nor their results have any special relation to Crashaw. But my
investigations have had a strange issue. I have found out who Mrs.
Beaumont is!' 'Who she is? In what way do you mean?' 'I mean that you and I know her better under another name.' 'What name is that?' 'Herbert.' 'Herbert!' Austin repeated the word, dazed with astonishment. 'Yes, Mrs. Herbert of Paul Street, Helen Vaughan of earlier adventures
unknown to me. You had reason to recognize the expression of her face;
when you go home look at the face in Meyrick's book of horrors, and you
will know the sources of your recollection.' 'And you have proof of this?' 'Yes, the best of proof; I have seen Mrs. Beaumont, or shall we say Mrs. Herbert?' 'Where did you see her?' 'Hardly in a place where you would expect to see a lady who lives in
Ashley Street, Piccadilly. I saw her entering a house in one of the
meanest and most disreputable streets in Soho. In fact, I had made an
appointment, though not with her, and she was precise both to time and
place.' 'All this seems very wonderful, but I cannot call it incredible. You
must remember, Villiers, that I have seen this woman, in the ordinary
adventure of London society, talking and laughing, and sipping her
coffee in a commonplace drawing-room with commonplace people. But you
know what you are saying.' 'I do; I have not allowed myself to be led by surmises or fancies. It
was with no thought of finding Helen Vaughan that I searched for Mrs.
Beaumont in the dark waters of the life of London, but such has been the
issue.' 'You must have been in strange places, Villiers.' 'Yes, I have been in very strange places. It would have been useless,
you know, to go to Ashley Street, and ask Mrs. Beaumont to give me a
short sketch of her previous history. No; assuming, as I had to assume,
that her record was not of the cleanest, it would be pretty certain that
at some previous time she must have moved in circles not quite so
refined as her present ones. If you see mud on the top of a stream, you
may be sure that it was once at the bottom. I went to the bottom. I have
always been fond of diving into Queer Street for my amusement, and I
found my knowledge of that locality and its inhabitants very useful.