The Club of Queer Trades | Page 6

tenacious person had him hard by the coat
collar and hung with the other hand to a beam. At length there came a
strain in holding back this human bull, a strain under which Brown

expected his hand to rend and part from the arm. But something else
rent and parted; and the dim fat figure of the giant vanished out of the
cellar, leaving the torn coat in the Major's hand; the only fruit of his
adventure and the only clue to the mystery. For when he went up and
out at the front door, the lady, the rich hangings, and the whole
equipment of the house had disappeared. It had only bare boards and
whitewashed walls.
"The lady was in the conspiracy, of course," said Rupert, nodding.
Major Brown turned brick red. "I beg your pardon," he said, "I think
not."
Rupert raised his eyebrows and looked at him for a moment, but said
nothing. When next he spoke he asked:
"Was there anything in the pockets of the coat?"
"There was sevenpence halfpenny in coppers and a threepenny-bit,"
said the Major carefully; "there was a cigarette-holder, a piece of string,
and this letter," and he laid it on the table. It ran as follows:
Dear Mr Plover,
I am annoyed to hear that some delay has occurred in the arrangements
re Major Brown. Please see that he is attacked as per arrangement
tomorrow The coal-cellar, of course.
Yours faithfully, P. G. Northover.
Rupert Grant was leaning forward listening with hawk-like eyes. He cut
in:
"Is it dated from anywhere?"
"No--oh, yes!" replied Brown, glancing upon the paper; "14 Tanner's
Court, North--"
Rupert sprang up and struck his hands together.

"Then why are we hanging here? Let's get along. Basil, lend me your
revolver."
Basil was staring into the embers like a man in a trance; and it was
some time before he answered:
"I don't think you'll need it."
"Perhaps not," said Rupert, getting into his fur coat. "One never knows.
But going down a dark court to see criminals--"
"Do you think they are criminals?" asked his brother.
Rupert laughed stoutly. "Giving orders to a subordinate to strangle a
harmless stranger in a coal-cellar may strike you as a very blameless
experiment, but--"
"Do you think they wanted to strangle the Major?" asked Basil, in the
same distant and monotonous voice.
"My dear fellow, you've been asleep. Look at the letter."
"I am looking at the letter," said the mad judge calmly; though, as a
matter of fact, he was looking at the fire. "I don't think it's the sort of
letter one criminal would write to another."
"My dear boy, you are glorious," cried Rupert, turning round, with
laughter in his blue bright eyes. "Your methods amaze me. Why, there
is the letter. It is written, and it does give orders for a crime. You might
as well say that the Nelson Column was not at all the sort of thing that
was likely to be set up in Trafalgar Square."
Basil Grant shook all over with a sort of silent laughter, but did not
otherwise move.
"That's rather good," he said; "but, of course, logic like that's not what
is really wanted. It's a question of spiritual atmosphere. It's not a
criminal letter."

"It is. It's a matter of fact," cried the other in an agony of
reasonableness.
"Facts," murmured Basil, like one mentioning some strange, far-off
animals, "how facts obscure the truth. I may be silly--in fact, I'm off my
head--but I never could believe in that man--what's his name, in those
capital stories?--Sherlock Holmes. Every detail points to something,
certainly; but generally to the wrong thing. Facts point in all directions,
it seems to me, like the thousands of twigs on a tree. It's only the life of
the tree that has unity and goes up--only the green blood that springs,
like a fountain, at the stars."
"But what the deuce else can the letter be but criminal?"
"We have eternity to stretch our legs in," replied the mystic. "It can be
an infinity of things. I haven't seen any of them--I've only seen the
letter. I look at that, and say it's not criminal."
"Then what's the origin of it?"
"I haven't the vaguest idea."
"Then why don't you accept the ordinary explanation?"
Basil continued for a little to glare at the coals, and seemed collecting
his thoughts in a humble and even painful way. Then he said:
"Suppose you went out into the moonlight. Suppose you passed
through silent, silvery streets and squares until you came into an open
and deserted space, set with a few monuments, and you beheld one
dressed as a ballet girl dancing in the argent glimmer. And suppose you
looked, and saw it was a man disguised. And