The First Sexton Blake by Anonymous

Author:Anonymous
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery;detective;sherlock;holmes;crime
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2018-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

THE BLUE LINE

13 March 1909

I.

It was a stormy night in mid-December, and Father Bean, the priest in charge of the Catholic Mission at Rocksby, a fishing village on the Yorkshire coast, had just finished hearing confessions, and had returned to his cosy sitting-room, when the presbytery re-echoed with a violent pealing of front-door bell.

So loud and peremptory was the ring that Father Benn, instead of waiting for his housekeeper to answer the summons, ran to the door himself. Ere he had time to reach it, however, it was suddenly flung open, and a tall, thin, weedy-looking young fellow, one side of whose face was streaming with blood, stumbled across the threshold, slammed the door behind him, and planted his back to it.

“Don’t let ’im in!” he panted wildly and incoherently. “He isn’t far behind me! He’s tried to murder me once, and he’ll do it if yer let ’im in!”

To say that Father Benn was astounded and bewildered is to describe his feelings mildly. He knew everybody in the neighborhood, yet this weakly-looking young fellow was an utter stranger to him. His age was apparently twenty-five Or twenty-six, and his appearance and manner of speech were those of a poor working-man. His clothes were splashed with mud, he had lost his hat, and one side of his face, as already stated, was streaming with blood. From head to foot be was trembling with mingled terror and excitement; and, from the way in which he was gasping for breath, he appeared to have been running for a considerable distance at an unaccustomed pace.

“Who are you!” demanded Father Bean.

“My name—” began the young fellow; then he suddenly stiffened, and his eyes dilated with panic-stricken fear. “He’s outside!” he almost screamed. “I can ’ear ’im! Don’t let ’im in! Don’t let ’im in!”

More than half convinced that his visitor was mad, yet anxious to allay his obvious terror, Father Benn stepped up to the door, turned the key, and shot the bolts.

“There!” he said soothingly. “Nobody can come in now, and I promise you I won’t let anybody in. Now, come into the sitting-room and tell me all about it.”

He led the way into the sitting-room, where he closed the door and pointed to an easy-chair.

“Sit down,” he said, in a kindly voice. “Shut the shutters first,” said the young fellow, glancing at the uncurtained window, which overlooked a garden-plot at the side of the presbytery.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Father Benn. “There are no shutters.”

“Then pull down the blind,” said his visitor. “He’s outside. I know he is, ’cos I ’eard ’im. If he looks through that winder he’ll see me, an’ if he sees me he’ll—”

The sentence was never completed, for at that moment the sharp crack of a revolver mingled with the howling of the wind, and the next instant a bullet crashed through the window-pane, whistled past the reverend father’s head, and buried itself in the young fellow’s breast.

With a sobbing cry, the young man threw up his arms and fell in a huddled heap at Father Benn’s feet.

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