mrs henderson put her hands under her apron and smirked.
‘well, mr phillips, it do sound strange to ’ear you talkin’ to me like that. anybody’d think i’d done something as i didn’t ought to ’a’ done to ’ear you going on. as for what’s ’appened, i’ll tell you all i know with the greatest willingness on earth. and as for bein’ careful, there ain’t no call for you to tell me to be that, for that i always am, as by now you ought to know.’
‘yes,—i do know. is that all you have to say?’
‘rilly, mr phillips, what a man you are for catching people up, you rilly are. o’ course that ain’t all i’ve got to say,—ain’t i just a-comin’ to it?’
‘then come.’
‘if you presses me so you’ll muddle of me up, and then if i do ’appen to make a herror, you’ll say i’m a liar, when goodness knows there ain’t no more truthful woman not in limehouse.’
words plainly trembled on the inspector’s lips,—which he refrained from uttering. mrs henderson cast her eyes upwards, as if she sought for inspiration from the filthy ceiling.
‘so far as i can swear it might ’ave been a hour ago, or it might ’ave been a hour and a quarter, or it might ’ave been a hour and twenty minutes—’
‘we’re not particular as to the seconds.’
‘when i ’ears a knockin’ at my front door, and when i comes to open it, there was a harab party, with a great bundle on ’is ’ead, bigger nor ’isself, and two other parties along with him. this harab party says, in that queer foreign way them harab parties ’as of talkin’, “a room for the night, a room.” now i don’t much care for foreigners, and never did, especially them harabs, which their ’abits ain’t my own,—so i as much ’ints the same. but this ’ere harab party, he didn’t seem to quite foller of my meaning, for all he done was to say as he said afore, “a room for the night, a room.” and he shoves a couple of ’arf crowns into my ’and. now it’s always been a motter o’ mine, that money is money, and one man’s money is as good as another man’s. so, not wishing to be disagreeable—which other people would have taken ’em if i ’adn’t, i shows ’em up ’ere. i’d been downstairs it might ’ave been ’arf a hour, when i ’ears a shindy a-coming from this room—’
‘what sort of a shindy?’
‘yelling and shrieking—oh my gracious, it was enough to set your blood all curdled,—for ear-piercingness i never did ’ear nothing like it. we do ’ave troublesome parties in ’ere, like they do elsewhere, but i never did ’ear nothing like that before. i stood it for about a minute, but it kep’ on, and kep’ on, and every moment i expected as the other parties as was in the ’ouse would be complainin’, so up i comes and i thumps at the door, and it seemed that thump i might for all the notice that was took of me.’
‘did the noise keep on?’
‘keep on! i should think it did keep on! lord love you! shriek after shriek, i expected to see the roof took off.’
‘were there any other noises? for instance, were there any sounds of struggling, or of blows?’
‘there weren’t no sounds except of the party hollering.’
‘one party only?’
‘one party only. as i says afore, shriek after shriek,—when you put your ear to the panel there was a noise like some other party blubbering, but that weren’t nothing, as for the hollering you wouldn’t have thought that nothing what you might call ’umin could ’ave kep’ up such a screechin’. i thumps and thumps and at last when i did think that i should ’ave to ’ave the door broke down, the harab says to me from inside, “go away! i pay for the room! go away!” i did think that pretty good, i tell you that. so i says, “pay for the room or not pay for the room, you didn’t pay to make that shindy!” and what’s more i says, “if i ’ear it again,” i says, “out you goes! and if you don’t go quiet i’ll ’ave somebody in as’ll pretty quickly make you!”’
‘then was there silence?’
‘so to speak there was,—only there was this sound as if some party was a-blubbering, and another sound as if a party was a-panting for his breath.’
‘then what happened?’
‘seeing that, so to speak, all was quiet, down i went again. and in another quarter of a hour, or it might ’ave been twenty minutes, i went to the front door to get a mouthful of hair. and mrs barker, what lives over the road, at no. 24, she comes to me and says, “that there arab party of yours didn’t stop long.” i looks at ’er, “i don’t quite foller you,” i says,—which i didn’t. “i saw him come in,” she says, “and then, a few minutes back, i see ’im go again, with a great bundle on ’is ’ead he couldn’t ’ardly stagger under!” “oh,” i says, “that’s news to me, i didn’t know ’e’d gone, nor see him neither—” which i didn’t. so, up i comes again, and, sure enough, the door was open, and it seems to me that the room was empty, till i come upon this pore young man what was lying be’ind the bed.’
there was a growl from the doctor.
‘if you’d had any sense, and sent for me at once, he might have been alive at this moment.’
‘’ow was i to know that, dr glossop? i couldn’t tell. my finding ’im there murdered was quite enough for me. so i runs downstairs, and i nips ’old of ’gustus barley, what was leaning against the wall, and i says to him, “’gustus barley, run to the station as fast as you can and tell ’em that a man’s been murdered,—that harab’s been and killed a bloke.” and that’s all i know about it, and i couldn’t tell you no more, mr phillips, not if you was to keep on asking me questions not for hours and hours.’
‘then you think it was this man’—with a motion towards the bed—‘who was shrieking?’
‘to tell you the truth, mr phillips, about that i don’t ’ardly know what to think. if you ’ad asked me i should ’ave said it was a woman. i ought to know a woman’s holler when i ’ear it, if any one does, i’ve ’eard enough of ’em in my time, goodness knows. and i should ’ave said that only a woman could ’ave hollered like that and only ’er when she was raving mad. but there weren’t no woman with him. there was only this man what’s murdered, and the other man,—and as for the other man i will say this, that ’e ’adn’t got twopennyworth of clothes to cover ’im. but, mr phillips, howsomever that may be, that’s the last harab i’ll ’ave under my roof, no matter what they pays, and you may mark my words i’ll ’ave no more.’
mrs henderson, once more glancing upward, as if she imagined herself to have made some declaration of a religious nature, shook her head with much solemnity.
