But the night was not
dark, as it had been on occasion of the Marr murders. And yet, for
purposes of criminal police, it was by accident worse than the darkest
night that ever hid a murder or baffled a pursuit. London, from east to
west, was covered with a deep pall (rising from the river) of universal
fog. Hence it happened, that for twenty or thirty seconds the young man
hanging in the air was not observed. His white shirt at length attracted
notice. Three or four people ran up, and received him in their arms, all
anticipating some dreadful annunciation. To what house did he belong? Even
_that_ was not instantly apparent; but he pointed with his finger to
Williamson's door, and said in a half-choking whisper--'_Marr's murderer,
now at work!_'
All explained itself in a moment: the silent language of the fact made its
own eloquent revelation. The mysterious exterminator of No. 29 Ratcliffe
Highway had visited another house; and, behold! one man only had escaped
through the air, and in his night-dress, to tell the tale.
Superstitiously, there was something to check the pursuit of this
unintelligible criminal. Morally, and in the interests of vindictive
justice, there was everything to rouse, quicken, and sustain it.
Yes, Marr's murderer--the man of mystery--was again at work; at this
moment perhaps extinguishing some lamp of life, and not at any remote
place, but here--in the very house which the listeners to this dreadful
announcement were actually touching.
Pages:
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74