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short sketch of her previous history。 No； assuming； as I had to assume；
that her record was not of the cleanest； it would be pretty certain that at
some previous time she must have moved in circles not quite so refined as
her present ones。 If you see mud at the top of a stream； you may be sure
that it was once at the bottom。 I went to the bottom。 I have always
been fond of diving into Queer Street for my amusement； and I found my
knowledge of that locality and its inhabitants very useful。 It is； perhaps；
needless to say that my friends had never heard the name of Beaumont；
and as I had never seen the lady； and was quite unable to describe her； I
had to set to work in an indirect way。 The people there know me； I have
been able to do some of them a service now and again； so they made no
difficulty about giving their information； they were aware I had no
communication direct or indirect with Scotland Yard。 I had to cast out a
good many lines； though； before I got what I wanted； and when I landed
the fish I did not for a moment suppose it was my fish。 But I listened to
what I was told out of a constitutional liking for useless information； and I
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found myself in possession of a very curious story； though； as I imagined；
not the story I was looking for。 It was to this effect。 Some five or six
years ago； a woman named Raymond suddenly made her appearance in
the neighbourhood to which I am referring。 She was described to me as
being quite young； probably not more than seventeen or eighteen； very
handsome； and looking as if she came from the country。 I should be
wrong in saying that she found her level in going to this particular quarter；
or associating with these people； for from what I was told； I should think
the worst den in London far too good for her。 The person from whom I
got my information； as you may suppose； no great Puritan； shuddered and
grew sick in telling me of the nameless infamies which were laid to her
charge。 After living there for a year； or perhaps a little more； she
disappeared as suddenly as she came； and they saw nothing of her till
about the time of the Paul Street case。 At first she came to her old haunts
only occasionally； then more frequently； and finally took up her abode
there as before； and remained for six or eight months。 It's of no use my
going into details as to the life that woman led； if you want particulars you
can look at Meyrick's legacy。 Those designs were not drawn from his
imagination。 She again disappeared； and the people of the place saw
nothing of her till a few months ago。 My informant told me that she had
taken some rooms in a house which he pointed out； and these rooms she
was in the habit of visiting two or three times a week and always at ten in
the morning。 I was led to expect that one of these visits would be paid on
a certain day about a week ago； and I accordingly managed to be on the
look…out in company with my cicerone at a quarter to ten； and the hour and
the lady came with equal punctuality。 My friend and I were standing
under an archway； a little way back from the street； but she saw us； and
gave me a glance that I shall be long in forgetting。 That look was quite
enough for me； I knew Miss Raymond to be Mrs。 Herbert； as for Mrs。
Beaumont she had quite gone out of my head。 She went into the house；
and I watched it till four o'clock； when she came out； and then I followed
her。 It was a long chase； and I had to be very careful to keep a long way
in the background； and yet not lose sight of the woman。 She took me
down to the Strand； and then to Westminster； and then up St。 James's Street；
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and along Piccadilly。 I felt queerish when I saw her turn up Ashley Street；
the thought that Mrs。 Herbert was Mrs。 Beaumont came into my mind； but
it seemed too impossible to be true。 I waited at the corner； keeping my
eye on her all the time； and I took particular care to note the house at
which she stopped。 It was the house with the gay curtains； the home of
flowers； the house out of which Crashaw came the night he hanged
himself in his garden。 I was just going away with my discovery； when I
saw an empty carriage come round and draw up in front of the house； and
I came to the conclusion that Mrs。 Herbert was going out for a drive； and I
was right。 There； as it happened； I met a man I know； and we stood
talking together a little distance from the carriage…way； to which I had my
back。 We had not been there for ten minutes when my friend took off his
hat； and I glanced round and saw the lady I had been following all day。
'Who is that？' I said； and his answer was 'Mrs。 Beaumont； lives in Ashley
Street。' Of course there could be no doubt after that。 I don't know
whether she saw me； but I don't think she did。 I went home at once； and；
on consideration； I thought that I had a sufficiently good case with which
to go to Clarke。〃
〃Why to Clarke？〃
〃Because I am sure that Clarke is in possession of facts about this
woman； facts of which I know nothing。〃
〃Well； what then？〃
Mr。 Villiers leaned back in his chair and looked reflectively at Austin
for a moment before he answered：
〃My idea was that Clarke and I should call on Mrs。 Beaumont。〃
〃You would never go into such a house as that？ No； no； Villiers； you
cannot do it。 Besides； consider； what result。。。〃
〃I will tell you soon。 But I was going to say that my information
does not end here； it has been completed in an extraordinary manner。
〃Look at this neat little packet of manuscript； it is paginated； you see；
and I have indulged in the civil coquetry of a ribbon of red tape。 It has
almost a legal air； hasn't it？ Run your eye over it； Austin。 It is an account
of the entertainment Mrs。 Beaumont provided for her choicer guests。 The
man who wrote this escaped with his life； but I do not think he will live
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many years。 The doctors tell him he must have sustained some severe
shock to the nerves。〃
Austin took the manuscript； but never read it。 Opening the neat
pages at haphazard his eye was caught by a word and a phrase that
followed it； and； sick at heart； with white lips and a cold sweat pouring
like water from his temples； he flung the paper down。
〃Take it away； Villiers； never speak of this again。 Are you made of
stone； man？ Why； the dread and horror of death itself； the thoughts of the
man who stands in the keen morning air on the black platform； bound； the
bell tolling in his ears； and waits for the harsh rattle of the bolt； are as
nothing compared to this。 I will not read it； I should never sleep again。〃
〃Very good。 I can fancy what you saw。 Yes； it is horrible enough；
but after all； it is an old story； an old mystery played in our day； and in dim
London streets instead of amidst the vineyards and the olive gardens。 We
know what happened to those who chanced to meet the Great God Pan；
and those who are wise know that all symbols are symbols of something；
not of nothing。 It was； indeed； an exquisite symbol beneath which men
long ago veiled their knowledge of the most awful； most secret forces
which lie at the heart of all things； forces before which the souls of men
must wither and die and blacken； as their bodies blacken under the electric
current。 Such forces cannot be named； cannot be spoken； cannot be
imagined except under a veil and a symbol； a symbol to the most of us
appearing a quaint； poetic fancy； to some a foolish tale。 But you and I； at
all e