Even before reaching the entranceway, however, I was struck with another thought. If—as seemed possible—the mystery in which I was now so deeply embroiled bore some still-unknown relationship to my own departed mother, it might prove wise of me to undertake my own personal investigation of Montague’s premises before alerting the police. I felt motivated, too, by my strange—deepening—and intensely unnerving—conviction that, at the heart of the mystery, lay a fearful secret that I alone was fated, if not doomed, to confront!

Stepping out into the street, I buttoned my frock-coat, thrust my hands into its side pockets, and hurried away in the direction of Alexander Montague’s dwelling.

CHAPTER 17

Having no wish to repeat the unnerving experience I had endured earlier in the evening, I decided to follow a less deserted, if somewhat more circuitous, route to Montague’s dwelling. Twenty minutes later, I arrived safely at my destination. I had counted on finding the front door to the squat, shabby building unlatched, and—trying the knob—was confirmed in my expectation. As I stepped into the entranceway, however, I was startled to discern a dull yellow glow emanating from the doorway of the bedchamber at the far end of the cramped, noisome corridor.

For a moment, I remained frozen in place, my mind in a ferment as I sought to account for this anomalous and wholly unforeseen development. Was it possible, I wondered, that either Captain Russell or his subordinate, Officer Carlton, was still within the apartment, pursuing the investigation? In an effort to test this hypothesis, I cleared my throat and loudly inquired: “Hello? Is someone there?”

The sound of my voice echoed hollowly in the dark, vault-like corridor before fading into utter silence. After the lapse of several seconds, I called out again. Once more, my interrogative cry elicited no response.

Evidently, the apartment was devoid of any human presence but my own. Only one conclusion suggested itself: whoever had been the last to depart from Montague’s dwelling had neglected to extinguish the oil lamp.

“Surely,” I whispered to myself, “this must be the explanation. Only this, and nothing more.”

Even so, I could not rid myself of the singular conviction—which had, by then, taken firm hold of my spirit—that I was not entirely alone in the apartment. Cupping a hand behind my left ear, I swivelled my head in the direction of the bedchamber and strained my auditory faculty to the utmost. I could detect no other sound, however, besides a faint, uncertain rustling, as though from the gentle stirrings of a window curtain.

I heaved a sigh of relief. Clearly, the inordinately unsettling events of the past several days had so wrought upon my nerves that I had begun to perceive perils where none existed.