Lord Arthur Saviles Crime | Page 5

him, and that he had been
suddenly called upon to bear an intolerable burden. Actors are so
fortunate. They can choose whether they will appear in tragedy or in
comedy, whether they will suffer or make merry, laugh or shed tears.
But in real life it is different. Most men and women are forced to
perform parts for which they have no qualifications. Our Guildensterns
play Hamlet for us, and our Hamlets have to jest like Prince Hal. The
world is a stage, but the play is badly cast.
Suddenly Mr. Podgers entered the room. When he saw Lord Arthur he
started, and his coarse, fat face became a sort of greenish-yellow colour.
The two men's eyes met, and for a moment there was silence.
'The Duchess has left one of her gloves here, Lord Arthur, and has
asked me to bring it to her,' said Mr. Podgers finally. 'Ah, I see it on the
sofa! Good evening.'
'Mr. Podgers, I must insist on your giving me a straightforward answer

to a question I am going to put to you.'
'Another time, Lord Arthur, but the Duchess is anxious. I am afraid I
must go.'
'You shall not go. The Duchess is in no hurry.'
'Ladies should not be kept waiting, Lord Arthur,' said Mr. Podgers,
with his sickly smile. 'The fair sex is apt to be impatient.'
Lord Arthur's finely-chiselled lips curled in petulant disdain. The poor
Duchess seemed to him of very little importance at that moment. He
walked across the room to where Mr. Podgers was standing, and held
his hand out.
'Tell me what you saw there,' he said. 'Tell me the truth. I must know it.
I am not a child.'
Mr. Podgers's eyes blinked behind his gold-rimmed spectacles, and he
moved uneasily from one foot to the other, while his fingers played
nervously with a flash watch-chain.
'What makes you think that I saw anything in your hand, Lord Arthur,
more than I told you?'
'I know you did, and I insist on your telling me what it was. I will pay
you. I will give you a cheque for a hundred pounds.'
The green eyes flashed for a moment, and then became dull again.
'Guineas?' said Mr. Podgers at last, in a low voice.
'Certainly. I will send you a cheque to-morrow. What is your club?'
'I have no club. That is to say, not just at present. My address is -, but
allow me to give you my card'; and producing a bit of gilt-edge
pasteboard from his waistcoat pocket, Mr. Podgers handed it, with a
low bow, to Lord Arthur, who read on it,

Mr. SEPTIMUS R. PODGERS Professional Cheiromantist 103a West
Moon Street
'My hours are from ten to four,' murmured Mr. Podgers mechanically,
'and I make a reduction for families.'
'Be quick,' cried Lord Arthur, looking very pale, and holding his hand
out.
Mr. Podgers glanced nervously round, and drew the heavy portiere
across the door.
'It will take a little time, Lord Arthur, you had better sit down.'
'Be quick, sir,' cried Lord Arthur again, stamping his foot angrily on the
polished floor.
Mr. Podgers smiled, drew from his breast-pocket a small magnifying
glass, and wiped it carefully with his handkerchief
'I am quite ready,' he said.
CHAPTER II

Ten minutes later, with face blanched by terror, and eyes wild with
grief, Lord Arthur Savile rushed from Bentinck House, crushing his
way through the crowd of fur-coated footmen that stood round the large
striped awning, and seeming not to see or hear anything. The night was
bitter cold, and the gas-lamps round the square flared and flickered in
the keen wind; but his hands were hot with fever, and his forehead
burned like fire. On and on he went, almost with the gait of a drunken
man. A policeman looked curiously at him as he passed, and a beggar,
who slouched from an archway to ask for alms, grew frightened, seeing
misery greater than his own. Once he stopped under a lamp, and looked
at his hands. He thought he could detect the stain of blood already upon
them, and a faint cry broke from his trembling lips.

Murder! that is what the cheiromantist had seen there. Murder! The
very night seemed to know it, and the desolate wind to howl it in his
ear. The dark corners of the streets were full of it. It grinned at him
from the roofs of the houses.
First he came to the Park, whose sombre woodland seemed to fascinate
him. He leaned wearily up against the railings, cooling his brow against
the wet metal, and listening to the tremulous silence of the trees.
'Murder! murder!' he kept repeating, as though iteration could dim the
horror of the word. The sound of his