THE DARK-STREET MYSTERY.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 5021, 31 May 1889, Page 4

THE DARK-STREET MYSTERY.

LITERATURE

A DOCTOR’S STORY. CHAPTEE 11. When Mrs Higginson was setting the tea-things at five o’clock to the minute, I asked her where the Prince’s Theatre was situated ; in my occasional rambles about the town I had not come across it. It was, as 1 had surmised, bidden away down one of the numerous back streets for which Breymouth was remarkable. ‘ It’s down a turning out of Quay Street, sir—quite a quarter of an hour’s walk from here, if ’t is a blessed minit’s. ‘Do you know what time the per formance begins 1 ’ ' ‘Seven o’clock—when it begins at all, that is.’ * What do you mean by that? Does it not always begin P ’ ‘Lor’, no, sir. Yesterday me and Higginson had a nice trapes to the other side of the town for nothing. Higginson is fond of the theayter when business is slack —too fond, though I say it myself. And the gas company had been and cut the gas off, sir—though they put up . outside that, in consequence of an accident to the lighting arrangements, there would bo no performance till to-night.’ ‘ Perhaps they will not play tonight?’ • ‘Yery likely; but they’ve got their new proggrums out in the shop windows, as bold as brass agin.’ ‘ The gas bill is settled, I hope.’ ‘l’m sure I hope so, sir,’she said, taking the cue from me, like a sensible landlady as she was. ‘ I find no fault with them ; they works bard, goodness knows, at their rigmarole nonsense ; and M> Nash is a funny one, and no mistake. My old man sits and laughs at him till I’m afeard he’ll bust a vessel in bis bead. But then it’s a change to catching fish on a winter’s night, out there,’ she said, with a jerk of the thumb turned to the window. ‘ Yes, a strong contrast that.’

1 And that’s what makas Higginson laugh so much, I dare say. But yoxt ain’t never thinking of going there tonight, sir ? ’ ‘ Yes, 1 am.’ ‘ On such a night as this ? ’ 1 What’s the matter with the night, Mrs Higginson ? ’ ‘ Oh, it’s coming up sharp. Haven’t you heard the wind and the rain ? The fishing-boats ain’t a going out—not one on ’em. I wouldn’t stir if I was you. I wouldn’t indeed, Mr Lissamer.’ I walked to the window and peered forth. Yes, the sleet was out and about again ; there was nothing but desolation in the shadows ; the sea was high and angry ; the wind shrieked like a child ; the pavement below me, the seats on the parade across the road, the iron railing which skirted the parade, were all shining with the wet. Yes, it was the beginning of a rough night. There was very little doubt of it.

* Should it keep on like this, get Higginson to find a fly for me a few minutes before seven,’ were my instructions here.

1 1 don’t think he’ll be able. They won’t be at the station afore nine.’

‘ Let him try, at all events.’ ‘ Very well, sir.’ Mrs Higginson departed, leaving me to mysJf and my bachelor tea, and to my firm determination to proceed to the Prince’s Theatre at all hazards. There was no hesitation in my mind upon this matter. At a quarter to seven my landlady reappeared with the information that Higginson had been everywhere and couldn’t find a fly in the town, or at the railway station. Should he go to the ‘ Royal ’ Hotel and order a fly especially for me ? That meant a serious item of expenditure, I was afraid, and I said ‘JNo’ peremptorily to this last suggestion. ‘ I will walk,’ I said, taking up my ulster from a chair on which it had been lying, and thrusting myself into it as rapidly as possible, ‘ and, if the performances are punctual, I have not any time to spare.’ ‘You’ll never venture out to-night, sir 7 ’

‘Yes, I will.’ * It’s not fit for a cat to be out,’ said Mrs Higginson, ‘ and you're not used to night air, and rain and wind, I’m sure. I wouldn’t, sir—in your state of health, too.’ There is nothing more aggravating to a convalescent —to a man who has been ill, and thinks he has pulled round —than to be lectured upon his delicate condition, and to be told he must be careful. I knew this from experience of my patients, but experience had taught me nothing in my own case. From one’s own standpoint, the look-out is so different I

‘ I don't; know what you mean by my state of health, Mrs Higginson,’ I said testily ; ‘ I don’t fancy there is much the matter with me, if you do.’ • You’re coming round wonderful, Mr Lissamer,’ she said, with a persistency of argument that reminded me so much of Nan Matherwny at home, that I thought I must be in her corporeal presence, ‘ and that’s where it’s such a pity to go and throw yourself back just for the sake of a little trumpery playacting.’ ‘ Mrs Higginson, I’m going to the theatre, and I’ll take the key, if you please, so that you need not sit up.’ * Bless my soul, Mr Lissamer, just as if me and Higginson could close a hi, knowin’ you were out o’ doors and a-flyin’—if an old woman may take the liberty of a-sayin’ so—in the face of Pruvvidence like this ! * exclaimed my voluble landlady. I could say nothitg in reply. After .all, the old woman’s protests might be received in kindly fashion; they betrayed a consideration for me that I had not bargained lor; they set me above the rank of the ordinary lodger. There was interest in me and my ‘ goings on.’

‘ Sit up, if you wish, Mrs Higginson. I shall not be late.’ Then, obstinate youag man that I was, I went out in the wind and rain to Breymouth Theatre. It was my first experience of the night air at Breymouth, and such night air as it was, too! The wet streets were deserted till I found myself in the market place, in the centre of the town, which I had to cross for the outskirts on the further side, where were Quay Street and the theatre. There were a few stragglers in the principal thoroughlares—boys and fisnermen, and one or two old women clicking about in the primitive pattens of fifty years ago—and then absolute solitude once more till Quay Street was reached. Here I had some trouble to find the Prince’s. I passed the entrance to it once, and went on towards the end of the street, and the approach to the Quay, where a man in shiny yellow oilskins was encountered, who set me in the right way, and pointed out ‘ that there lamp at the corner of the court,’ with a big, blistered finger. There were half-a-dozen boys loitering outside the doors, whiling away thoir time by friendly shoving, or pitching each other’s cap into the pit, box, and gallery entrance—it was all one—and my appearance beside them was the signal for minute attention, ‘ Here’s another cove ! ’ was the first exclamation of surprise, and ‘ Give us your pass, sir, when you comes out again,’ was the mild request, extremely significant of their belief in my inability to endure the performance for any length of time. A frowsy female, pinched with cold and smelling of gin, took my money, and volunteered to mind my umbrella and ulster till I came out, and then, opening a door at the side, I found myself at once in the theatre, without any superfluous passages and box lobbies to the mind of the stranger as to the right way to go. There was a rush of the boys in the street to catch a glimpse of the stage, perfectly visible to them as I passed through; but the door was clapped to quickly behind me, and the bright vision of a stage world shut from the outside gaze once more. [To be Continued.)