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diff --git a/42905-0.txt b/42905-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..926e4c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/42905-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5449 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42905 *** + + GREAT PORTER SQUARE: + A MYSTERY. + + BY + B. L. FARJEON, + + _Author of "Grif," "London's Heart," "The House of White + Shadows," etc._ + + + _IN THREE VOLUMES._ + + VOLUME I. + + + LONDON: + WARD AND DOWNEY, + 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. + 1885. + [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] + + + + + PRINTED BY + KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS + AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + CHAP. PAGE + + I.--Introduces Mrs. James Preedy; hints at the trouble + into which she has fallen; and gives an insight into + her social position 1 + + II.--What was printed on the quarto bill: a proclamation + by her Majesty's Government 19 + + III.--Extracted from the "Evening Moon" 25 + + IV.--The examination of Mrs. Preedy, continued from the + "Evening Moon" 33 + + V.--Contains further extracts from the "Evening Moon" + relating to the Great Porter Square mystery 50 + + VI.--The "Evening Moon" speaks its mind 56 + + VII.--In which the "Evening Moon" continues to speak its + mind 62 + + VIII.--The "Evening Moon" postpones its statement + respecting Antony Cowlrick 88 + + IX.--In which the "Evening Moon" relates the adventures of + its Special Correspondent 90 + + X.--The Special Reporter of the "Evening Moon" makes the + acquaintance of a little match girl 121 + + XI.--The "Evening Moon" for a time takes leave of the case + of Antony Cowlrick 142 + + XII.--Mrs. Preedy has dreadful dreams 147 + + XIII.--Mrs. Preedy's young man lodger 154 + + XIV.--In which Becky commences a letter to a friend in the + country 167 + + XV.--In which Becky continues her letter, and relates how + she obtained the situation at No. 118 175 + + XVI.--In which Becky writes a second letter to her friend + in the country, and gives a woman's reason for not + liking Richard Manx 183 + + XVII.--In which Becky, continuing her letter, relates her + impressions of Mrs. Preedy's young man lodger 193 + + XVIII.--The "Evening Moon" reopens the subject of the Great + Porter Square murder, and relates a romantic story + concerning the murdered man and his widow 219 + + XIX.--The "Evening Moon" continues its account of the + tragedy, and describes the shameful part enacted by + Mr. Frederick Holdfast in his father's house 244 + + + + +GREAT PORTER SQUARE: + +A MYSTERY. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + INTRODUCES MRS. JAMES PREEDY; HINTS AT THE TROUBLE INTO WHICH SHE + HAS FALLEN; AND GIVES AN INSIGHT INTO HER SOCIAL POSITION. + + +Mrs. James Preedy, lodging-house keeper, bred and born in the vocation, +and consequently familiar with all the moves of that extensive class of +persons in London that has no regular home, and has to be cooked for, +washed for, and generally done for, sat in the kitchen of her house, +No. 118, Great Porter Square. This apartment was situated in the +basement, and here Mrs. Preedy received her friends and "did" for her +lodgers, in so far as the cooking for them can be said to be included +in that portentous and significant term. The floor of the kitchen was +oil-clothed, with, in distinguished places, strips of carpet of various +patterns and colours, to give it an air. Over the mantelpiece was a +square looking-glass in a mahogany frame, ranged on each side of which +were faded photographs of men, women, and children, and of one gentleman +in particular pretending to smoke a long pipe. This individual, whose +face was square, whose aspect was frowning, and whose shirt sleeves were +tucked up in an exceedingly free and easy fashion, was the pictorial +embodiment of Mrs. Preedy's deceased husband. While he lived he was "a +worryer, my dear," to quote Mrs. Preedy--and to do the lady justice, he +looked it; but being gone to that bourne from which no lodging-house +keeper ever returns, he immediately took his place in the affections of +his widow as "the dear departed" and a "blessed angel." Thus do we often +find tender appreciation budding into flower even at the moment the +undertaker nails the lid upon the coffin, and Mr. Preedy, when the +breath was out of his body, might (spiritually) have consoled himself +with the reflection that he was not the only person from whose grave +hitherto unknown or unrecognised virtues ascend. The weapons of the dead +warrior, two long and two short pipes, were ranged crosswise on the wall +with mathematical tenderness. When her day's work was over, and Mrs. +Preedy, a lonely widow, sat by herself in the kitchen, she was wont to +look regretfully at those pipes, wishing that he who had smoked them +were alive to puff again as of yore; forgetting, in the charity of her +heart, the crosses and vexations of her married life, and how often she +had called her "blessed angel" a something I decline to mention for +defiling the kitchen with his filthy smoke. + +The other faded photographs of men, women, and children, represented +three generations of Mrs. Preedy's relations. They were not a handsome +family; family portraits, as a rule, when the sun is the painter, are +not remarkable for beauty, but these were a worse lot than usual. In +their painful anxiety to exhibit themselves in a favourable light, Mrs. +Preedy's relations had leered and stared to such a degree that it must +have been no easy matter for them to get their features back into their +natural shape after the photographer in the City Road was done with +them. To make things worse, they were in their Sunday clothes, and if +they had just been going into the penitentiary they could not have +looked more unhappy and uncomfortable. + +On the mantelpiece, also, were two odd broken lustres which, in the +course of their chequered career, had lost half their crystal drops; +two fat vases, with a neat device of cabbage roses painted on them; +an erratic clock, whose vagaries supplied a healthy irritant to its +mistress; and a weather indicator, in the shape of an architectural +structure representing two rural bowers, in one of which, suspended on +catgut, dwelt an old wooden farmer, and in the other, also suspended on +catgut, a young wooden woman. When the weather was going to be stormy, +the wooden old farmer swung out, and with an assumption of preternatural +wisdom stared vacantly before him; when it was going to be fine, +the wooden young woman made her appearance, with a smirk and a leer +indicative of weak brains. They never appeared together; when one was in +the other was out; and that they were more frequently wrong than right +in their vaticinations concerning the weather (being out when they ought +to have been in, and in when they ought to have been out: which, in an +odd way, has a political signification) did not in the slightest degree +affect the wooden impostors. In this respect they were no worse than +other impostors, not made of wood, who set themselves up as prophets +(announcing, for instance, from time to time, the end of the world), +and exhibit no sense of shame at the continual confounding of their +predictions. + +The other furnishings of the room were in keeping. The kitchen range; +the dresser, with its useful array of plates and dishes, and pots and +pans; the sideboard, with its obstinate drawers, which, when they did +allow themselves to be pulled out, gave way with a suddenness which +brought confusion on the operator; the six odd chairs, one of black +horsehair, bits of which peeped up, curious to see what was going +on; one very sad, of green rep, representing faded gentility; two of +wood and two of cane, and all of different breeds; the sofa, with a +treacherous sinking in its inside, indicative of spasms and rickets; the +solid, useful kitchen table, upon which many a pudding had been made, +and many a slice cut from lodger's joints; the what-not of walnut wood, +utterly useless, despite its pretension; the old-fashioned high-backed +piano, with very little music in it, which had been taken for a debt +from two old maiden sisters who had seen better days, and who had +drifted, drifted, till they had drifted to Great Porter Square; the +extraordinary production in water colours, which might have been a ship +on fire, or a cornfield in a fit, or a pig cut open, or a castle on a +sunlit mountain, or the "last-day," or a prairie of wild buffaloes, +executed by one of Mrs. Preedy's nephews, and regarded as a triumph of +art; the two coloured prints, one of the Queen, the other of Prince +Albert; the six odd volumes of books, all tattered and torn, like the +man in the nursery rhyme;--these were the elegant surroundings which set +the stamp upon Mrs. Preedy's social standing in the neighbourhood of +Great Porter Square. + +There were four doors in the kitchen--one leading into the passage which +communicated with the upper portion of the house, another affording +an entrance into Mrs. Preedy's bedchamber, another disclosing a dark +cupboard, apparently about four feet square, but which, being used as a +bedroom by the maid-of-all-work, must have been slightly larger, and the +last conducting to the scullery, which opened into the area, through the +iron grating of which in the pavement above, human nature monotonously +presented itself in a panoramic prospect of definite and indefinite +human legs and ankles. Here, also, glimpses of a blissful earthly +paradise were enjoyed by the various maids-of-all-work who came and went +(for none stopped long at No. 118), through the medium of the baker, and +the butcher, and even of the scavenger who called to collect the dust. +Many a flirtation had been carried on in that dark nook. Beneath area +railings, as in the fragrant air of fashionable conservatories, Love is +lord of all. + +Mrs. Preedy was alone. Not a soul was in the kitchen but herself. In the +dark cupboard the maid-of-all-work was enjoying, apparently, a sleep as +peaceful and noiseless as the sleep of a flower. It was nearly twelve +o'clock at night, and not a sound was to be heard but Mrs. Preedy's +heavy breathing, as, with many a sigh, she read, in the columns of a +much-thumbed newspaper, an item of news in the shape of a police report, +which must have possessed a singular magnetic power, inasmuch as she had +read it so often that she ought to have known it by heart. Nevertheless, +upon the present occasion, she did not miss a single word. Spectacles +on nose, she followed the report line by line, keeping faithful mark +with her forefinger until she reached the end; and then she commenced it +all over again, and inflicted what was evidently a serious mortification +upon herself. For it was not to be doubted, from the various shades of +inquietude and distress which passed over her face as she proceeded, +that the subject matter was exceedingly distasteful to her. It would +have been the dryest of dry work but for the glass of gin and water from +which Mrs. Preedy occasionally took a sip--moistening her grief, as it +were. The liquid might have been supposed to have some kind of sympathy +for her, exciting her to tears, which flowed the more freely the more +she sipped. + +Once, treading very softly, she crept out of the room into the passage, +and looked up the dark staircase. As she did so, she was seized with +a fit of trembling, and was compelled to cling to the balustrade for +support. She crept upstairs to the street door, at which she listened +for a familiar sound. With her hand on the handle she waited until +she heard the measured tread of a policeman; then she opened the door +suddenly. It was a complaining, querulous door, and as she opened it a +jarring sound escaped from its hinges. This sound produced an effect +upon the policeman. He started back in affright, and with one leap +placed himself outside the kerb of the pavement. No cause for reasonable +alarm presenting itself, he looked up, and saw Mrs. Preedy standing upon +the threshhold. + +"O, it's you, Mrs. Preedy?" he said, half-questioning. + +"Yes," she replied, "it's me." + +"You startled me," he said, coming close to her. "As the door opened +it sounded like a smothered cry for 'Help,' and I won't deny that it +startled me." + +"I don't wonder at it," said Mrs. Preedy; "sometimes the least sound +sends my 'eart into my mouth." + +By one impulse they both looked at the house next door, No. 119 Great +Porter Square. The next moment they turned their heads away from the +house. + +"Will you have a glass of gin?" asked Mrs. Preedy. + +"I've no objections," replied the guardian of the night. + +He stepped inside the passage, and waited while Mrs. Preedy went +downstairs--now with a brisker step--and returned with a glass of +liquor, which he emptied at a gulp. Thus refreshed, he gave the usual +policeman's pull at his belt, and with a "thank 'ee," stepped outside +the street door. + +"A fine night," he said. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Preedy. + +"But dark." + +"Yes," acquiesced Mrs. Preedy, with a slight shudder, "but dark. 'As +anythink been discovered?" with another shrinking glance at No. 119. + +"Nothing." + +"'As nobody been took up?" she asked. + +"No," replied the policeman. "One man come to the station last night +and said he done it; but he had the delirium trimmings very bad, and we +found out this morning that he was in Margate at the time. So of course +it couldn't have been him." + +"No," said Mrs. Preedy, "but only to think of it--though it's more than +two months ago--sends the cold shivers over me." + +"Well, don't you be frightened more than you can help. _I'll_ look after +you." + +"Thank you," she said. + +"Good night." + +"Good night." + +She closed the door and crept down to her kitchen, and sat down once +more to a perusal of the newspaper. + +There were other papers on the table at which she occasionally glanced, +and also a quarto bill printed in large type, with a coat of arms at the +top, which caused her to shudder when her eyes lighted on it; but this +one paper which she read and re-read in anguish and tribulation of soul, +appeared to enchain her sole attention and sympathy. The quarto bill +was carefully folded, and what was printed thereon was concealed from +view; but its contents were as vivid in Mrs. Preedy's sight as they +would have been if they had been printed in blood. + +The truth was, Mrs. Preedy was in trouble. A terrible misfortune had +fallen upon her, and had occasioned a shock to her nervous system from +which she declared she could never recover. But even this affliction +might have been borne (as are many silent griefs from which, not +unfrequently, the possessors contrive to extract a sweet and mournful +consolation), had it not been accompanied by a trouble of a more +practical nature. Mrs. Preedy's means of livelihood were threatened, +and she was haunted by grim visions of the workhouse. + +The whole of the upper part of her lodging-house--the dining rooms, the +drawing rooms, the second and third floors, and the garrets or attics, +the boards of which were very close to the roof--were ordinarily let to +lodgers in various ranks and stations of life, none apparently above +the grade of the middle class, and some conspicuously below it. Many +strange tenants had that house accommodated. Some had come "down" in +life; some had been born so low that there was no lower depth for them; +some had risen from the gutters, without adding to their respectability +thereby; some had floated from green lanes on the tide which is ever +flowing from country to city. How beautiful is the glare of lights, seen +from afar! "Come!" they seem to say; "we are waiting for you; we are +shining for you. Why linger in the dark, when, with one bold plunge, you +can walk through enchanted streets? See the waving of the flags! Listen +to the musical murmur of delight and happiness! Come then, simple ones, +and enjoy! It is the young we want, the young and beautiful, in this +city of the wise, the fair, the great!" How bright, even in fragrant +lanes and sweet-smelling meadows, are the dreams of the great city +in the minds of the young! How bewitching the panorama of eager +forms moving this way and that, and crossing each other in restless +animation! Laughter, the sound of silver trumpets, the rustle of silken +dresses, the merry chink of gold, all are there, waiting to be enjoyed. +The low murmur of voices is like the murmur of bees laden with sweet +pleasure. Distance lends enchantment, and the sound of pain, the cry of +agony, the wail and murmur of those who suffer, are not heard; the rags, +the cruelty, the misery, the hollow cheeks and despairing eyes, are not +seen. So the ships are fully freighted, and on the bosom of the tide +innocence sails to shame, and bright hope to disappointment and despair. + +But it mattered not to Mrs. Preedy what kind of lives those who lodged +with her followed. In one room a comic singer in low music-halls; in +another a betting man; in another a needle-woman and her child; in +another a Frenchman who lay abed all day and kept out all night; in +another a ballet girl, ignorant and pretty; in another the poor young +"wife" of a rich old city man; and a hundred such, in infinite variety. +Mrs. Preedy had but one positive test of the respectability of her +lodgers--the regular payment of their rent. Never--except, indeed, +during the last few weeks to one person--was a room let in her house +without a deposit. When a male lodger settled his rent to the day, he +was "quite a gentleman;" when a female lodger did the same, she was +"quite a lady." Failing in punctuality, the man was "a low feller," and +the woman "no better than she should be, my dear." + +At the present time the house was more than half empty, and Mrs. Preedy, +therefore, was not in an amiable mood. Many times lately had she said +to neighbour and friend that she did not know what would become of +her; and more than once in the first flush of her trouble, she had +been heard to declare that she did not know whether she stood on her +head or her heels. If the declaration were intended to bear a literal +interpretation, it was on the face of it ridiculous, for upon such a +point Mrs. Preedy's knowledge must have been exact; but at an important +period she had persisted in it, and, as the matter was a public one, +her words had found their way into the newspapers in a manner not +agreeable or complimentary to her. Indeed, in accordance with the +new spirit of journalism which is now all the fashion, three or four +smartly-conducted newspapers inserted personal and quizzical leading +articles on the subject, and Mrs. Preedy was not without good-natured +friends who, in a spirit of the greatest kindness, brought these +editorial pleasantries to her notice. She read them in fear and +trembling at first, then with tears and anger, and fright and +indignation. She did not really understand them. All that she did +understand was that the cruel editors were making fun of the misfortunes +of a poor unprotected female. Curious is it to record that the departed +Mr. James Preedy came in for a share of her indignation for being dead +at this particular juncture. He ought to have been alive to protect her. +Had the "blessed angel" been in the flesh, he would have had a warm time +of it; as it was, perhaps, he was having---- But theological problems +had best be set aside. + +Mrs. Preedy read and read, and sipped and sipped. Long habit had endowed +her with a strength of resistance to the insidious liquid, and, although +her senses were occasionally clouded, she was never inebriated. She +read so long and sipped so frequently, that presently her eyes began +to close. She nodded and nodded, bringing her nose often in dangerous +proximity with the table, but invariably, at the critical moment, a +violent and spasmodic jerk upwards was the means of saving that feature +from fracture, though at the imminent risk of a dislocation of the +slumberer's neck. + +While she nods in happy unconsciousness, an opportunity is afforded of +looking over the newspapers, especially that which so closely concerns +herself, and the quarto bill, printed in large type, the contents of +which she so carefully conceals from sight. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + WHAT WAS PRINTED ON THE QUARTO BILL: A PROCLAMATION BY HER MAJESTY'S + GOVERNMENT. + + +Have you ever observed and studied the expressions on the faces of the +people who congregate before the "Murder" proclamations pasted up in +Scotland Yard, and on the dead walls of the poor neighbourhoods in +England? Have you ever endeavoured, by a mental process, to discover the +characters of some of these gaping men and women who read the bills and +linger before them with a horrible fascination? Appropriate, indeed, +that such announcements of mysterious murders should be pasted on _dead_ +walls! Come with me, and mingle for a few moments with this little +group, gathered before a Government proclamation in Parliament-street, +offering a reward for the discovery of a murderer. Here is a +respectable-looking workman, with his basket of tools over his shoulder, +running his eyes swiftly down the bill, and taking in its purport with +rapid comprehension. He knows already about the murder, as indeed all +London does, having read the particulars in the newspapers. "They've +offered a reward at last," he thinks, with a scornful smile: "they ought +to have done it a month ago. Too late, now. This is another added to +the list. How many undiscovered murders have been committed in the last +twelve months? Temple of intellect, Scotland Yard!" As he walks away to +his work, he looks with a kind of contempt at the policeman sauntering +lazily along. Here is a young woman, without a bonnet, reading the bill +very slowly; she can read quicker if she likes, but as the words pass +before her eyes, she thinks of her own life and the drunken brute of a +man she is living with. She would leave him to-day, this very moment, +but she is afraid. "Do!" the brute has frequently exclaimed, when she +has threatened to run away from him; "and say your prayers! As sure as +you stand there I'll kill yer, my beauty! I don't mind being 'ung for +yer!" And in proof of his fondness for her, he gives her, for the +hundredth time, a taste of his power by striking her to the earth. "Git +up!" he cries, "and never cheek me agin, or it'll be worse for yer." "I +wonder," the young woman is now thinking as she reads the particulars of +the murder, "whether there'll ever be a bill like that out about _me_; +for Jack's a cunning one!" Here is an errand boy reading the bill, with +his eyes growing larger and larger. Murders will be committed in his +dreams to-night. But before night comes an irresistible fascination will +draw him to the neighbourhood in which the murder was committed, and he +will feast his eyes upon the house. Here is an old woman spelling out +the words, wagging her head the while. It is as good as a play to her. +She lives in Pye Street, Westminster, and is familiar with crime in its +every aspect. She is drunk--she has not been sober a day for thirty +years. Well, she was born in a thief's den, and her mother died in a +delirium of drink. Here is a thief, who has lived more than half his +life in prison, reading the bill critically, with a professional eye. +It would be a pleasure to him to detect a flaw in it. There is in his +mind a certain indignation that some person unknown to himself or his +friends should have achieved such notoriety. "I'd like to catch 'im," he +thinks, "and pocket the shiners." He wouldn't peach on a pal, but, for +such a reward, he would on one who was not "in the swim." Here is a +dark-visaged man reading the bill secretly, unaware that he is casting +furtive glances around to make sure that he is not being watched. There +is guilt on the soul of this man; a crime undiscovered, which haunts him +by day and night. He reads, and reads, and reads; and then slinks into +the nearest public-house, and spends his last twopence in gin. As he +raises the glass to his lips he can scarcely hold it, his hand trembles +so. How sweet must life be to the man who holds it on such terms; and +how terrible the fears of death! Here is another man who reads the bill +with an assumption of indifference, and even compels himself to read it +slowly a second time, and then walks carelessly away. He walks, with +strangely steady steps, along Parliament Street, southwards, and turns +to Westminster Bridge, holding all the way some strong emotion in +control. Difficult as it is, he has a perfect mastery over himself, and +no sound escapes him till he reaches the bridge; then he leans over, +and gives vent to his emotion. It takes the form of laughter--horrible +laughter--which he sends downwards into the dark waters of the Thames, +hiding his face the while! What secret lies concealed in his brain? Is +he mad--or worse? + +Many small knots of people had lately gathered before the bills posted +on London walls, of which one was in the possession of Mrs. James +Preedy: + + +[Illustration] + +MURDER. + +£100 REWARD. + +_Whereas, on the morning of Thursday, the 10th of July, the Dead Body of +a_ MAN _was found on the premises, No. 119, Great Porter Square, London, +under such circumstances as prove that he was Murdered. An Inquest +has been held on the Body, and the Coroner's Jury having returned a_ +"VERDICT OF WILFUL MURDER AGAINST SOME PERSON OR PERSONS UNKNOWN," _the +above Reward will be paid to any Person (other than a Person belonging +to a Police Force in the United Kingdom) who shall give such Information +as shall lead to the Discovery and Conviction of the Murderer or +Murderers; and the Secretary of State for the Home Department will +advise the Grant of her Majesty's Gracious_ + +PARDON + +_to any Accomplice not being the Person who actually committed the +Murder who shall give such evidence as shall lead to a like result._ + +_Evidence to be given, to the Director of Criminal Investigators, Great +Scotland Yard, or at any Police station._ + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +EXTRACTED FROM THE "EVENING MOON." + + +The _Evening Moon_ was an enterprising little paper, which gave all +the news of the day in a fashion so entertaining that it was a success +from its first appearance. Between noon and night a dozen editions were +published, and were hawked about the streets by regiments of ragged boys +and girls (irregular infantry), whose vivacity and impudence added to +the circulation, if they did not to the dignity, of the journal. Beneath +the heading of the paper was a representation of the moon with the man +in it looking at a spade--to which was tacked the legend: "What do +you call this?" "A spade." "Then I shall call it a spade." Despite +this declaration it delighted in word-painting, and its reports of +police-court proceedings, highly coloured in many instances and +unwarrantably but agreeably spiced with romance, were read with avidity. +The _Evening Moon_ of the 19th of August contained the following report +of the police-court proceedings in + +THE GREAT PORTER SQUARE MYSTERY. + +"The inquiry into the awful and mysterious murder in Great Porter Square +was resumed this morning at the Martin Street Police Court, before the +resident magistrate, Mr. Reardon. The accused person, Antony Cowlrick, +who presented a woe-begone appearance, was brought up in charge of the +warders. The case has been adjourned four times, and this was the fifth +appearance of Antony Cowlrick in the dock. The police preserve a strict +silence with regard to him--a silence against which we protest. Arrested +upon suspicion, without warrant, and without, so far we can learn, a +shadow of evidence against him, nothing but injustice and wrong can +accrue from the course pursued by the Scotland Yard officials. Antony +Cowlrick is unmistakably a poor and miserable man. All that was found +upon him when he was arrested were a stale crust of bread and a piece of +hard cheese, which he had thrust into his pocket as he was flying from +the pursuit of an enterprising constable. His very name--the name he +gave at the lock-up on the night of his arrest--may be false, and, if +our information is correct, the police have been unable to discover +a single person who is acquainted with, or can give any information +concerning him. The rumour that Antony Cowlrick is not quite right in +his mind certainly receives some confirmation from his haggard and +wandering looks; a more wretched and forlorn man has seldom been seen +in a magistrate's court, suggestive as such a place is of misery and +degradation. He was carefully guarded, and a strict watch was kept upon +his movements, the theory of the police being that he is a dangerous and +cunning character, whose sullen demeanour is assumed to defeat the ends +of justice. Mr. White Lush, on the part of the Treasury, conducted +the inquiry. The interest taken by the public in the case is still +unabated, and the court--if a close, abominably-ventilated room fourteen +feet square can be so denominated--was crowded to excess. + +On the calling of the case, the magistrate inquired if the accused man +was still undefended, and the police replied that no one appeared for +him. The answer was scarcely given when Mr. Goldberry (of the firm of +Goldberry, Entwistle, and Pugh), rose and said that he was there to +represent the accused. + +Magistrate: Have you been instructed? + +Mr. Goldberry: No, your worship. A couple of hours ago I endeavoured to +confer with the prisoner, but the police refused me permission to see +him. + +Inspector Fleming explained that when Mr. Goldberry sought an interview +with the prisoner, the prisoner was asked whether he wished to see him; +his answer was that he wished to see no one. + +Mr. Goldberry: Still, it cannot but be to the prejudice of the prisoner +that he should be unrepresented, and I am here to watch the case in his +interest. + +Magistrate: Perhaps you had better confer with him now. + +A few minutes were allowed for this purpose, at the end of which Mr. +Goldberry said, although it was impossible to obtain anything like +satisfaction from the accused, that he did not object to the appearance +of a solicitor on his behalf. "He seems," added Mr. Goldberry, "to be +singularly unmindful as to what becomes of him." + +Magistrate: The case can proceed. + +Mr. White Lush: Call Mrs. Preedy. + +The witness presented herself, and was sworn. + +Mr. White Lush: Your name is Anna Maria Preedy? + +Witness: Yes, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: You are a widow? + +Witness: Yes, sir, worse luck. 'Is name was James, poor dear! + +Mr. White Lush: You live at No. 118, Great Porter Square? + +Witness: Yes, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: How long have you occupied your house? + +Witness: Four and twenty year, come Michaelmas. + +Mr. White Lush: What kind of a house is yours? + +Witness (with spirit): I defy you or any gentleman to say anythink agin +its character. + +Mr. White Lush: You keep a lodging-house? + +Witness: I'm none the worse for that, I suppose? + +Mr. White Lush: Answer my question. You keep a lodging-house? + +Witness: I do, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: Do you remember the night of the 9th of last month? + +Witness: I've got reason to. + +Mr. White Lush: What reason? + +Witness: Two of my lodgers run away without paying their rent. + +Mr. White Lush: That circumstance fixes the night in your mind? + +Witness: It'd fix it in yours if you kep' a lodging-house. (Laughter.) + +Mr. White Lush: No doubt. There were other circumstances, independent of +the running away of your lodgers, which serve to fix that night in your +mind? + +Witness: There was, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: The night was Wednesday? + +Witness: It were, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: How and at what time did you become aware that your +lodgers had run away? + +Witness: When the last post come in. I got a letter, and the turn it +gave me---- + +Mr. White Lush: That is immaterial. Have you the letter with you? + +Witness: The way the perlice 'as been naggin' at me for that letter---- + +Mr. White Lush: Have you the letter with you? + +Witness: It's lost, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: Let me impress upon you that this letter might be an +important link in the case. It is right and proper that the police +should be anxious about it. Do you swear positively that you have lost +it? + +Witness: I do, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: How did it happen? + +Witness: It were a fortnight after the body was found in No. 119. I 'ad +the letter in my 'and, and was lookin' at it. I laid it down on the +kitchen table, and went to answer the street door. When I come back the +letter was gone. + +Mr. White Lush: Was any person in the kitchen when you left it? + +Witness: Not as I am aware on, sir. There was a 'igh wind on, and I left +the kitchen door open, and when I come back I noticed a blaze in the +fire, as though a bit of paper had been blown into it. + +Mr. White Lush: Then your presumption is that the letter is burnt? + +Witness: It air, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: You have searched for it since? + +Witness: I've 'unted 'igh and low, sir, without ever settin' eyes on +it. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE EXAMINATION OF MRS. PREEDY, CONTINUED FROM THE "EVENING MOON." + + +Mr. White Lush: You are quite confident in your own mind that the letter +is no longer in existence. + +Witness: I can't swear to that, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: You swear that you know nothing of it whatever? + +Witness: Yes, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: Now, what were the contents of the letter? + +Witness: It were to inform me that the droring-rooms had bolted---- + +Magistrate: Bolted? + +Witness: Run away, and wasn't coming back, and that I might 'elp myself +to what was in the trunk to pay my bill. + +Mr. White Lush: Did you help yourself? + +Witness: The meanness! I went up to the droring-room, and opened the +trunk. + +Mr. White Lush: Was it locked? + +Witness: It were, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: How did you open it? + +Witness: With a poker. + +Mr. White Lush: What did you find in it? + +Witness: Bricks. + +Mr. White Lush: Nothing else? + +Witness: Not a blessed thing. + +Mr. White Lush: What occurred then? + +Witness: I were overcome with a 'orrid suspicion. + +Mr. White Lush: Concerning what? + +Witness: My second floorer. + +Magistrate: Is that a poetical image, Mr. Lush? + +Mr. White Lush (smiling): I really cannot say. This is a case with very +little poetry in it. (To witness): Your second floorer? Do you mean your +tenant on the second floor? + +Witness: That were my meaning, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: And acting on your horrid suspicion, you---- + +Witness: Run up stairs as fast as my legs would carry me. + +Mr. White Lush: What did you discover? That your second floorer had run +away? + +Witness (very solemnly): He 'ad, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: Did you open his trunk? + +Witness: I did, sir. + +Magistrate: With your universal key--the poker? + +Witness: Yes, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: That trunk, surely, was not also full of bricks? + +Witness: I am sorry to inform you, sir, it were. + +Magistrate: A singular coincidence. + +Mr. White Lush: The witness's two lodgers were evidently regular bricks. +(Great laughter.) Were your drawing rooms and your second floorer on +terms of intimacy? + +Witness: Not as I was aware on, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: What did you do then? + +Witness: I went out to speak to a neighbour. + +Mr. White Lush: To tell her of your misfortunes? + +Witness: Yes, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: At what time did you return to your house? + +Witness: It were eleven o'clock, sir--striking as I opened the door. I +stood on the steps, and counted the strokes: One--Two--Three---- + +Mr. White Lush: That will do. We will imagine the clock has struck. +While you were out, did you observe anything unusual in the next house, +No. 119? + +Witness: Nothink, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: You saw no strangers prowling about? + +Witness: I did not, sir. Somebody pushed agin me-- + +Mr. White Lush: Yes? + +Witness: It were Mr. Simpson, dining room, three doors off, in his usual +condition. He always comes 'ome so. + +Mr. White Lush: Did he speak to you? + +Witness: He growled at me. + +Mr. White Lush: What did you do then? + +Witness: I went down to the kitchen, and fell into a doze. + +Mr. White Lush: For how long did you doze? + +Witness: I can't rightly say, sir. About arf-an-hour, perhaps. + +Mr. White Lush: Was there a candle alight in the kitchen when you fell +asleep? + +Witness: Yes, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: Was it a whole candle? + +Witness: No, sir, it were arf burnt down. + +Mr. White Lush: What kind of candles do you burn in your kitchen? + +Witness: Taller dips, sir--twelves. + +Mr. White Lush: For about how long will one of these tallow dips burn? + +Witness: Three hours and more. + +Mr. White Lush: Was the candle you left burning on your kitchen table +when you fell into a doze alight when you awoke? + +Witness: It were, sir, and it burnt blue. + +Mr. White Lush: What do you mean by that? + +Witness: I don't know, sir. It burnt blue. There was something +mysterious about it. + +Magistrate: Perhaps the witness smelt sulphur also. + +Mr. White Lush: Did you smell sulphur? + +Witness: Not as I'm aware on, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: When you awoke, was it a natural awaking, or were you +suddenly aroused? + +Witness: I were suddenly woke, and I was all of a tremble. + +Mr. White Lush: You were frightened by something? + +Witness: I were, sir, and I were not. + +Mr. White Lush: I do not understand you. Was there anybody or anything +in the room besides yourself? + +Witness: I didn't see nothink--not even a mouse. + +Mr. White Lush: Then what were you frightened at? + +Witness: It were a fancy, perhaps--or a dream that I couldn't remember; +and all at once I 'eerd a scream. + +Mr. White Lush: From what direction? + +Witness: From the next house, No. 119. + +Mr. White Lush: You heard a scream proceeding from 119, the house in +which the murder was committed? + +Witness: As near as I can remember, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: That is not what I want. You possess the usual number of +senses, I suppose? + +Witness: I defy anybody to say anything to the contrairy. + +Mr. White Lush: You look like a sensible woman. (Here the witness made +an elaborate curtsey to Mr. White Lush, which occasioned much laughter.) +Your hearing is good? + +Witness: It air, sir. Mrs. Beale was saying to me only yesterday +morning, 'Mrs. Preedy,' says she---- + +Mr. White Lush: Never mind what Mrs. Beale was saying to you. Listen to +what I am saying to you. On the occasion we are speaking of, you heard a +scream? + +Witness (after a long pause, during which she seemed to be mentally +asking questions of herself): I think I may wenture to say, sir, I did. + +Mr. White Lush: Ah, that is more satisfactory. Now, Mrs. Preedy, attend +to me. + +Witness: I'm a-doing of it, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: Thank you. Did the scream proceed from a man or a woman? + +Witness (with energy): I couldn't tell you, sir, if you went down on +your bended knees. + +Mr. White Lush: Reflect a little; take time. You have heard hundreds of +men's and women's voices---- + +Witness: Thousands, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: And a woman of your discernment must have perceived a +difference between them. Women's tones are soft and dulcet; men's, +gruffer and more resonant. It is important we should know whether it was +a man's or a woman's voice you heard? + +Witness: It ain't possible for me to say, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: Is that really the only answer you can give? + +Witness: I'd give you another if I could, sir. It's true I've 'eerd +thousands of men's and women's voices, but I've not been in the 'abit +of 'aving thousands of men and women screaming at me. + +Mr. White Lush: Was it a loud scream? + +Witness: There was a brick wall between us, and it must 'ave been a loud +scream, or I couldn't have 'eerd it. + +Mr. White Lush: What followed? + +Witness: Music. Almost on the top of the scream, as a body might say, I +'eerd music. + +Mr. White Lush: What instrument was being played upon? + +Witness: The pianner, sir. I 'eerd the pianner playing. + +Mr. White Lush: That is to say you heard a man or woman playing the +piano? + +Witness: I wouldn't swear, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: Or a child? + +Witness: I wouldn't swear, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: But you have sworn. You say that you heard the sound of +a piano? + +Witness: I did 'ear it, sir. The pianner was playing. + +Mr. White Lush: A piano can't play of itself. You heard a man, or a +woman, or a child, playing the piano? + +Witness: Wild 'orses sha'n't tear it from me, sir. It might 'ave been a +spirit. + +Mr. White Lush: What do you say to a cat? + +Witness: No, sir, it ain't reasonable. + +Mr. White Lush: You stick to the spirit, then? + +Witness: It might 'ave been. + +Mr. White Lush: You believe in spirits? + +Witness: I do, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: Out of a bottle? (Laughter.) + +Magistrate: The witness has the bottle-imp in her mind, perhaps? +(Renewed laughter.) + +Mr. White Lush: Very likely. (To witness): Did the spirit you heard +playing come out of a bottle? + +Witness (with dignity): I am not in the habit of making a beast of +myself. + +Mr. White Lush: But a little drop now and then, eh, Mrs. Preedy? + +Witness: As a medicine, sir, only as a medicine. I suffer a martyrdom +from spasms. (Laughter.) + +Mr. White Lush: A common complaint, Mrs. Preedy. I suffer from them +myself. + +Witness: You look like it, sir. (Screams of laughter.) + +Mr. White Lush: For how long a time did the music continue? + +Witness: For five or six minutes, perhaps. + +Mr. White Lush: Are you sure it did not last for a longer time--or a +shorter? + +Witness: No, sir, I am not sure. I was in that state that everythink +seemed mixed up. + +Mr. White Lush: The music might have lasted for half-an-hour? + +Witness: It might, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: Or for only a minute? + +Witness: Yes, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: When the music stopped, what occurred? + +Witness: If you was to feed me on bread and water for the next twenty +years I couldn't tell you. + +Mr. White Lush: Why couldn't you tell me? + +Witness: Because I don't know whether I was standing on my 'ead or my +'eels. (Roars of laughter.) + +Mr. White Lush: Nonsense, Mrs. Preedy, you do know. + +Witness: Beggin' your pardon, sir, I do not know. I ought to know +whether I don't know. + +Mr. White Lush: Are you standing on your head or your heels at the +present moment? + +Witness did not reply. + +Magistrate: Do you mean to tell the court seriously that you are not +aware whether, at the time referred to, you were standing on your head +or your heels? + +Witness: I wouldn't swear to it, my lordship, one way or another. + +Mr. White Lush: What did you do when the music stopped? + +Witness: I flopped. + +Mr. White Lush: Did you flop on your head or your heels? + +Witness: I couldn't take it upon myself to say, sir. + +Mr. White Lush: And this is all you know of the murder? + +Witness: If you was to keep me 'ere for a month, sir, you couldn't get +nothink else out of me. + +Mr. White Lush: I have done with you. + +Mr. Goldberry: I shall not detain you long, Mrs. Preedy. Look +attentively at the prisoner. Do you know him? + +Witness: No, sir. + +Mr. Goldberry: Have you ever seen him in Great Porter Square? + +Witness: Neither there or nowheres else. This is the first time I ever +set eyes on 'im. + +Mr. Goldberry: You swear that, positively. + +Witness: If it were the last word I ever spoke, it's the truth. + +Mr. Goldberry: That will do. + +Mrs. Preedy left the witness box in a state of great agitation, amid the +tittering of the spectators. + +Mr. Goldberry, addressing the Bench, said that he saw in the Court +three of the constables who had been instrumental in arresting the +prisoner, one being the officer who had first observed the prisoner in +Great Porter Square. It was well known that the prisoner had declined +to put a single question to one of the witnesses called on behalf of +the Treasury. He asked to be allowed to exercise the privilege of +cross-examining these constables, and he promised to occupy the court +but a very short time. + +No objection being raised, Police-constable Richards entered the witness +box. + +Mr. Goldberry: Before you helped to arrest the prisoner in Great Porter +Square, had you ever seen him before? + +Witness: It's hard to say. + +Mr. Goldberry: It is not hard to say. You would find no difficulty in +replying to such a question if it were to tell against the prisoner +instead of in his favour? I must have an answer. Had you ever seen him +before that night? + +Witness: I can't call to mind that I have. + +Mr. Goldberry: Do you know anything of him, in his favour or against +him, at this present moment? + +Witness: I do not. + +Mr. Goldberry: Call Constable Fleming. (Constable Fleming stepped into +the box.) Before the night of the prisoner's arrest had you ever seen +him? + +Witness: I can only speak to the best of my knowledge---- + +Mr. Goldberry: You are not expected to speak from any other knowledge. +You are aware, if that man is put on his trial, that it will be for his +life. I insist upon fair play for him. Had you ever seen him before that +night? + +Witness: Not as far as I can remember. + +Mr. Goldberry: You have taken a lesson from Mrs. Preedy. Do you know +anything against him now? + +Witness: No. + +Mr. Goldberry: Call Constable Dick. (Constable Dick stepped into the +box). You have heard the questions I put to the last two witnesses. +They are what I shall substantially put to you. Before the night of the +prisoner's arrest had you ever seen him? + +Witness: No. + +Mr. Goldberry: Do you know anything of him at the present moment? + +Witness: No. + +Mr. Goldberry then addressed the bench. The inquiry had already been +adjourned four times, and not a tittle of evidence had been brought +forward to connect the prisoner with the dreadful crime. He was utterly +unknown to the police, who had instigated the charge against him, +and who, being unable to identify him, were deprived the pleasure of +testifying that he belonged to the dangerous classes of society. It +was partly because of this singular aspect of the case that he, Mr. +Goldberry, had voluntarily come forward to defend a man who, upon the +face of the evidence, was innocent of the charge so wildly brought +against him. It appeared to him that liberty of the person was in +danger. It was monstrous that such a power should be exercised by the +police. To be poor, as the accused evidently was, was no crime; to be +forlorn and wretched, as the accused appeared to be, was no crime; but +the police evidently regarded these misfortunes as proofs of guilt. He +applied for the prisoner's discharge. + +Mr. White Lush said it was scarcely necessary to say a word in defence +of the police, who, in the exercise of their arduous duties, generally +acted with fair discretion. To discharge the prisoner at this stage +of the proceedings would not unlikely defeat the ends of justice. He +understood that the police were on the track of some important evidence +regarding the prisoner in connection with the crime, and he asked for an +adjournment for a week. + +The prisoner, who, during the entire proceedings, had not uttered a +word, was remanded, and the case was adjourned until this day week. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + CONTAINS FURTHER EXTRACTS FROM THE "EVENING MOON" RELATING TO THE + GREAT PORTER SQUARE MYSTERY. + + +Yesterday the inquiry into the Great Porter Square mystery was resumed +at the Martin Street Police Court, before Mr. Reardon. The court was +again crowded, and the prisoner, Antony Cowlrick, was brought in +handcuffed. His appearance was, if possible, more forlorn-looking and +wretched than on the previous occasions, and his face bore the marks +of a scuffle. Mr. White Lush again appeared for the Treasury, and Mr. +Goldberry for the prisoner. As a proof of the public feeling respecting +the conduct of the police in this case we have to record that during +his progress down Martin Street towards the Magistrate's Court, Mr. +Goldberry, who has so generously come forward on behalf of the prisoner, +was loudly cheered. + +Mr. White Lush rose, and stated that he was not prepared to offer any +further evidence, in consequence of the inquiries of the police not +being concluded. He applied for another adjournment of a week. + +A buzz of astonishment and indignation ran through the court, which was +quickly suppressed. + +Mr. Reardon: I was not prepared for this application. It is my duty to +do everything in my power to assist the course of justice, but I cannot +shut my eyes to the fact that the prisoner has now been brought before +me six times, and that on the occasion of every adjournment the police +have promised to produce evidence affecting the prisoner which up to the +present moment is not forthcoming. If it is my duty to further the ends +of justice, it is equally the duty of the police to see that it does not +lag. A suspected person--suspected with cause and reason--should not be +allowed the opportunity of escape; but some protection must be given to +a man who is presumably innocent. Since last week I have carefully gone +over and considered the evidence presented in this court with respect to +this awful and mysterious murder; and I am hardly inclined to allow the +accused to remain any longer in prison on this charge. What has Mr. +Goldberry to say? + +Mr. Goldberry: I am glad--as I am sure the public will be--to hear the +expression of your worship's sentiments in the matter. It is not my +wish to excite false sympathy for the prisoner, but I would draw your +worship's attention, and the attention of the police, to the reasonable +presumption that while they are wildly hunting for evidence against an +innocent man, the criminal is being allowed every opportunity to escape +the hands of justice. It would almost seem--far be it from me to assert +that it is so, for I am sure it would be untrue--but it would almost +seem as if they were playing into the hands of the real criminal. The +only excuse that can be found for the police is, that a murder having +been committed, somebody had to be arrested and charged with its +committal, and, with this end in view, Cowlrick was indiscriminately +taken up and so charged. Zeal is a fine quality, but, when misapplied, +frequently leads to grave consequences. In my defence of the prisoner I +have had great difficulties to contend with. He has not assisted me in +the slightest degree. It is no breach of professional confidence to say +that, in my interviews with him, he has doggedly refused to give me +any information concerning himself; but as I have before asserted that +poverty and wretchedness were not to be accepted as marks of guilt, so I +now declare that the prisoner's strange reticence concerning himself is +also no crime. Nor is eccentricity a crime. I have had no opportunity +of conversing with the prisoner this morning, or of seeing him before +I entered the court a few minutes since, and I have to ask the meaning +of those marks upon his face--to which I direct your worship's +attention--and of his being handcuffed. + +The police explained that on his way to Martin Street police court the +prisoner had attempted to escape, and that a struggle had taken place, +during which a constable and the prisoner had received several blows. + +Mr. Goldberry asked if the constable who had been struck was present, +and the answer was given that he was not; he was on duty in another +place. + +Mr. Goldberry: I will not comment upon the occurrence; in the marks upon +the prisoner's face, and in the absence of the constable who is said +to have been struck, it speaks for itself. I strenuously oppose the +application for a remand, and I demand the prisoner's discharge on the +plain grounds that there is no evidence against him. + +Mr. White Lush: In the interests of justice, I ask for a further remand. + +Mr. Reardon: Am I to understand that if I remand the prisoner until this +day week, you will be prepared to bring forward evidence which will +justify not only his present but his past detention? + +Mr. White Lush: I am informed that such evidence will be forthcoming. + +Mr. Reardon: Upon that understanding the prisoner is remanded until this +day week. + +[Decoration] + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE "EVENING MOON" SPEAKS ITS MIND. + + +Yesterday, at the Martin Street Police Court, Antony Cowlrick was +brought up for the seventh time, on the charge of being concerned in +the mysterious murder which took place at No. 119, Great Porter Square. +The remarks we have from time to time made upon this case and upon +the arrest of Antony Cowlrick have been justified by the result. The +prisoner was finally discharged. All that was wanted to complete the +tragical farce was a caution from the magistrate to the prisoner not to +do it again. + +We now intend to speak plainly; and the strong interest the case has +excited will be our excuse if our comments are more lengthy than those +in which we generally indulge in our editorial columns. The elements +of mystery surrounding the awful murder were sufficiently complicated +without the assistance of the police. Their proceedings with respect +to the man calling himself Antony Cowlrick have rendered the task of +bringing the murderer to justice one of enormous difficulty. + +Our business at present is not so much with the murder itself as it is +with Antony Cowlrick and the police; but a brief recapitulation of the +circumstances of the murder is necessary for the proper understanding of +what is to follow. + +On Tuesday, the 1st of July, a gentleman engaged a back room on the +first floor of the house No. 119, Great Porter Square. There was a piano +in the room. The landlady of that house, who has undergone more than one +lengthy examination, has stated that she "reckoned him up" as a man who +had just come from a voyage, and that there was something superior "in +the looks of him." When she asked him for his name he said it did not +matter, and he handed her four weeks' rent, telling her at the same time +not to trouble herself about a receipt. This was sufficient for the +landlady; she received the stranger as a tenant, and he took possession +of the room. + +He led a remarkably quiet life. He did not trouble the landlady to cook +a meal for him, although "attendance" was included in the sum charged +for the rent of the room. He had but one visitor, a lady, who came so +closely veiled that no person in the house caught a glimpse of her face. +She called three times, and when the street door was opened, asked for +"the gentleman on the first floor," and went up to him without waiting +for an answer. This lady has not come forward, and she has not been +tracked. After the 10th of July no female resembling in the slightest +the vague description given of her has called at No. 119, Great Porter +Square. + +It happened, singularly enough, that on the 9th of July the house was +almost empty. The landlady's niece was married on that day, and the +landlady was at the wedding; there was to be a dance in the evening, and +she did not expect to be home until very late. Invitations had not only +been given to the landlady, but to three of her lodgers, two of whom +were married. Another lodger, a violin player, was engaged for the +music. It was a kind of happy family affair, arranged by Fate. Only the +general servant and the stranger were left. + +The servant was human, and took advantage of the golden opportunity. If +we had been in her place, and had "a young man," we should probably have +done the same. She did not have many holidays, and knowing that her +services would not be required, and that her mistress and the lodger +would not be home till early in the morning, she made an appointment +with her "young man," who treated her to the Alhambra. When the +performances at the Alhambra were concluded, this young person and her +young man indulged in supper, and, tempted to daring by the opportunity, +she did not return to the house until an hour past midnight. She noticed +nothing unusual when she entered; conscience-stricken at the late hour +she did not light a candle, but thankful that her mistress had not +returned, she crept down to her bedroom in the basement, and went to +bed in the dark. She fell asleep at once, and we have the testimony of +her mistress that the girl is an exceedingly heavy sleeper, and most +difficult to wake. We ourselves have a servant--a most desirable +creature, whom we are ready to part with on moderate terms--similarly +afflicted. Thus it may be said that, for many mysterious hours, the +only occupant of the house was the stranger who occupied the front +drawing-room. + +It was nearly four in the morning before the wedding guests, jaded with +pleasure, found themselves in Great Porter Square. The wedding had been +a jolly affair, and dancing had been prolonged beyond the anticipated +hour of breaking up. Jaded as they were, the spirits of the little knot +of merrymakers were not quite exhausted, and as they paused before the +door of No. 119, with the morning's sweet fresh light upon them, they +laughed and sang, and so inspired the musician that he took his violin +from its green baize bag and struck up a jig. With their tired feet +moving to the measure they entered the house, the door of which was +opened by the landlady with her private key; they tripped up the steps +and lingered in the passage, dancing to the music. Exhilarated by the +occasion they wound in and out along the narrow passage, until the wife +of one of the lodgers suddenly uttered a shriek which drove the colour +from their flushed faces. + +"My God!" shrieked the terrified woman, "we are dancing in blood!" + +[Decoration] + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +IN WHICH THE "EVENING MOON" CONTINUES TO SPEAK ITS MIND. + + +It was fatally true. They were dancing in blood. The woman who made the +awful discovery had white satin shoes on. As she uttered the appalling +words she looked down at her feet, and, with a wild shudder, sank into +her husband's arms. He, overwrought with excitement, had scarcely +sufficient strength to support her, and he would have allowed her to +slip to the floor had he not, also, cast his eyes earthwards. Quickly he +caught her to his breast, and, trembling violently, proceeded upstairs. +The weight of his burden compelled him to hold on to the balustrade; +but the moment he placed his hand on the polished rail, he screamed, +"There's been Murder done here!" And, shaking like a leaf, he retreated +in haste till he reached the street door. Flinging it open, he rushed +with his wife into the Square, and stood in the light of the sunrise, a +picture of terror. + +The other actors in the scene had borne appropriate parts in the tragic +situation. For a little while they were paralyzed, and incapable of +action. The streaming in of the daylight aroused them, and they looked +about timidly. On the floor, stairs, and balustrade were marks of blood +not yet quite dried, and they traced the crimson stains to the end of +the passage, where it dipped into the narrow staircase which led to the +basement. There being no natural means of lighting the stairway, this +part of the house was usually lit up by a thin, funereal jet of gas, +which burnt as sadly as if its home were a tomb. At present it was in +darkness, the gas being turned off. + +The thought that had been put into words by the man who had rushed out +of the house now took its place in the minds of those who remained +within. There had been murder done. But who was murdered, and where was +the murderer? + +"That comes," said the violinist to the landlady, "of letting a man into +the house who refuses to give his name." + +The landlady wrung her hands. She saw ruin staring her in the face. + +"He's off, of course," continued the violinist, "and Mary" (the name of +the servant) "lies downstairs, murdered in cold blood." + +A sound sleeper, indeed, must Mary have been to have slept through +the music, and the dancing, and the cries of terror. The silence that +reigned below was confirmation of the violinist's assumption. Of all +suppositions, it was the most reasonable. Who would go downstairs to +corroborate it? Not one had sufficient courage. + +Meanwhile, events progressed in front of the house. A policeman, +attracted by the sounds of music, was drawn thitherwards, and, seeing +a man kneeling on the pavement, supporting a woman, he quickened his +steps. + +"What's up?" demanded the policeman. + +"Murder! murder!" gasped the man. + +The woman's white shoes, bedabbled in blood, met the policeman's eye. + +"There! there!" cried the man, pointing to the passage. + +The policeman was immediately encompassed by the other frightened faces. + +"You're just in time," said the violinist. "There's been murder done." + +"Who's been murdered?" asked the policeman. + +"That's to be found out," was the answer. "It's a girl, we believe." + +"Ah," remarked the policeman, with a certain thoughtfulness; "the last +was a girl--an unfortunate girl--and _he's_ not been caught." + +Cautiously they re-entered the house, the policeman with his truncheon +drawn, and ascended the stairs to the drawing-room. No person, dead or +alive, was found. + +"_It's_ downstairs," said the violinist. + +They crept downstairs in a body, keeping close together. There, an awful +sight met their eyes. On the floor of the kitchen lay the body of the +stranger who, on the 1st of July, had engaged a room on the first floor, +and had paid a month's rent in advance. He had been foully murdered. +The servant girl was sound asleep in her bed. It is strange, when she +returned home from the Alhambra, and crept through the passage and the +kitchen to bed, that she did not herself make the discovery, for the +soles of her boots were stained with the evidences of the crime, and +she must have passed within a foot or two of the lifeless body; but +satisfactory explanations have since been given, with which and with the +details of the murder, as far as they are known, the public have already +been made fully acquainted through our columns. + +Our business now is with Antony Cowlrick. + +So profound was the impression produced by the murder that, from the day +it was discovered, no person could be induced to lodge or sleep in the +house in which it was committed. The tenants all left without giving +notice, and the landlady, prostrated by the blow, has not dared, since +that awful night, to venture inside the door. The house is avoided, +shunned, and dreaded by all. Any human being bold enough to take it +could have it for a term of years on a very moderate rental--for the +first year, probably, for a peppercorn; but practical people as we are, +with our eyes on the main chance, we are imbued with sentiments which +can never be eradicated. The poorest family in London could not, at the +present time, be induced to occupy the house. The stain of blood is on +those floors and stairs, and _it can never be washed out_! The Spirit +of Murder lurks within the fatal building, and when night falls, the +phantom holds terrible and undisputed sway over mind and heart. A +shapeless shadow glides from room to room--no features are visible but +eyes which never close, and which shine only in the dark. And in the +daylight, which in this house is robbed of its lustre, its presence is +manifest in the echo of every step that falls upon the boards. Appalling +spectre! whose twin brother walks ever by the side of the undiscovered +murderer! Never, till justice is satisfied, shall it leave him. As he +stole from the spot in which he took the life of a fellow-creature, it +touched his heart with its spiritual hand, and whispered, "I am the +shadow of thy crime! Thou and I shall never part!" He looks into the +glass, and it peers over his shoulder; maddened, he flies away, and when +he stops to rest, he feels the breath of the Invisible on his cheek. He +slinks into his bed, and hiding his head in the bedclothes, lies there +in mortal terror, knowing that the shadow is close beside him. It brings +awful visions upon him. He looks over the bridge into the river upon +which the sun is shining. How bright is the water! How clear! How +pure! Surely over that white surface the shadow can have no power! But +suddenly comes a change, and the river is transformed into a river of +blood. An irresistible fascination draws him to the river again in +the night, when the moon is shining on the waters, and, as he gazes +downwards, he sees the ghastly body of his victim, its face upturned, +floating on a lurid tide. He cannot avoid it; whichever way he turns +it is before him. He walks through country lanes, and trembles at the +fluttering of every leaf. Rain falls; it is red; and as he treads along, +it oozes up and up till it reaches his eyes, and, resting there, tinges +everything that meets his sight with the colour of blood. Water he +cannot drink, its taste is so horrible. He must have gin, brandy--any +poison that will help him to forget. Vain hope! He shall never forget! +And the shadow of his crime shall never leave until he falls at the feet +of outraged justice, and pays the penalty. Then, _and then only_, there +may be hope for him--for God is merciful! + +Among the measures adopted by the police for the discovery of the Great +Porter Square murderer was that of having the house, No. 119, watched +day and night by policemen in private clothes. There are not many +persons in the kingdom who, in a murder case which has thrilled the +public heart and filled it with horror, would accuse the police of want +of zeal; but there are many who, with justice, would accuse them of want +of tact. + +A week after the murder was committed, Policeman X (as it is not of +an individual, but of a system, we complain, we will not make this +particular constable's name more prominent than it has already +become)--a week then after the murder was committed, Policeman X, in +private clothes, saw lurking in the vicinity of Great Porter Square, a +man: as he might see to-night other men lurking in the vicinity of any +and every square in London. It is a peculiarity of policemen in private +clothes that they are always ready to suspect, and that in their eyes +every poor-looking person with whose face they are not familiar is a +disreputable character. Policeman X watched this man for a few moments, +and took the opportunity of brushing past him when they were near a +lamp-post. The man's face was unknown to him; it was haggard and pale, +and his clothes betokened poverty. These were terrible signs, and +Policeman X at once set himself the task of stealthily following the +man, who walked leisurely towards the house, No. 119, in which the +murder was committed. The house was deserted and untenanted, as it is at +the present time. Now, would the suspected man pass the house, or would +he linger near it? Much depended upon this. + +The man reached the house, peered around (according to Policeman X's +statement) to make sure that he was not observed, and then cast his eyes +to the dark windows. He lingered, as though in indecision, for a few +moments, and standing before the door, appeared to be studying the +number. Then he strolled away. It cannot be said that there was anything +criminating in these movements, but Policeman X, determined not to lose +sight of his man, followed him at a cautious but convenient distance. +The man sauntered round the Square, and presently commenced to munch +some stale bread and cheese, portions of which were afterwards found +upon him. He completed the circuit of the Square, and for the second +time paused before No. 119. Again he studied the number on the door, +and again he looked up at the dark windows. Not satisfied with his +inspection in that direction, he stooped down to the grating above the +area, and appeared to listen. Still not satisfied, he ascended the two +steps which led to the street door, and tried the handle. + +Nothing more was needed. "I have the murderer!" thought Policeman X, +with a thrill of satisfaction; and without further hesitation, he walked +quickly up, clapped his hand on the man's shoulder, and said-- + +"What are you doing here?" + +The sudden appearance of a human being out of the shadows probably so +startled the suspected man that he did not know what to reply. He thrust +his head forward in the endeavour to distinguish the features of the +questioner. The next words uttered by Policeman X had more meaning in +them. With his hand still on the man's shoulder, he said, sternly-- + +"Come with me!" + +The reply given to the invitation was the reply which the writer, or any +of the readers of this article, would have given on the impulse of the +moment. It is to be borne in mind that the policeman was in private +clothes, and might, as far as appearances went, himself have been a +murderer in the eyes of another man dressed in private clothes, who, in +his turn (for what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander) might +himself have been a policeman. + +"Come with me!" exclaimed Policeman X. + +Antony Cowlrick--if that is his proper name, which we doubt--had as much +reason to suspect Policeman X as Policeman X had to suspect Antony +Cowlrick. Not only did he decline the invitation in words decidedly +rude (really, Mr. Cowlrick, you should have been more courteous to this +policeman in private clothes!), but he had the temerity to fling not +only Policeman X's hand from his shoulder, but the policeman's entire +body from his person. Not long did Policeman X lie upon the ground--for +just time enough to come to the conclusion that such resistance on the +part of a poor man, raggedly dressed, was strong evidence of guilt. For, +if not guilty of the murder, why should the man resist? Picking himself +up briskly, Policeman X sprang his rattle. + +The precise effect produced upon the mind of Antony Cowlrick by the +sound of this rattle must be mere matter of conjecture, and we will +leave its consideration to a future article; its outward and visible +effect was the taking to his heels by Antony Cowlrick. + +The mental condition of Antony Cowlrick at this exact moment presents an +interesting study. Its variety, its colour, its turmoil of possibilities +and consequences, its sequence of private and personal circumstance, are +almost sufficiently tempting to induce us instantly to wander into a +psychological treatise utterly unfit for the columns of our little +newspaper, and conducive, therefore, to its immediate decline in +popularity. We resist the temptation. We adhere to our programme; stern +Reality--pictures of life as they naturally present themselves in all +their beauty or deformity; the truth, THE TRUTH, in its naked sweetness +or hideousness! The highest efforts of imagination cannot equal the +pictures which are for ever being painted upon the canvas of Reality. + +Antony Cowlrick took to his heels: what more conclusive evidence than +that he was the murderer did murderer ever give? He took to his heels +and ran, self-convicted. The evidence was complete. After him, springing +his rattle and dreaming of promotion, raced Policeman X. The magic sound +caused windows to be thrown open and heads to be thrust out; caused +ordinary wayfarers to stop and consider; caused idlers to stray in its +direction; caused old hands with the brand of thief upon them to smile +contemptuously, and young ones to slink timidly into the shadow of the +wall. To the "force" it was a call to arms. It summoned from the north +an angry, fierce, and blustering policeman; from the south a slow, +envious, dallying policeman; from the east a nipping, sharp, and sudden +policeman; from the west a brisk, alert, and eager policeman;--and all +of them converging upon the hapless form of Antony Cowlrick, he was +caught in the toils of Fate's compass, and lay, gasping and exhausted, +beneath the blaze of five bull's-eye lamps, which glowed upon him with +stern and baneful intention. + +Helpless and bewildered lay Antony Cowlrick upon the flagstones of Great +Porter Square. Over him, in a circle, stood the five policemen. These +guardians of the law were tasting one of the sweetest pleasures in +existence--for to our imperfect nature, the hunting down of any living +creature, whether human or animal, is a rare enjoyment. + +Policeman X wipes the mud from his brow. + +"Did he strike you?" asks a comrade. + +"You see," answers Policeman X, pointing to his face. + +Policemen are ready of belief in such matters. They see without seeing, +and sometimes swear to the truth of a circumstance which is introduced +to them second-hand. + +"Now then," says Policeman X, of the prostrate man, caught in the +toils, "will you come quietly?" + +Expectancy reigned in the hearts of the constables. We do not wish to be +harsh in our judgment of them, when we say that, as a rule, they prefer +a slight resistance on the part of a prisoner. To some extent it +enhances the value of their services, and the extra exertion necessary +in the conveying of their man to the lock-up, shows that they are doing +something for their insufficient stipend. For our own part, we see much +enjoyment in a policeman's life, and were we not tied to the editorial +desk, we would joyfully exchange the quill for the rattle. + +"Will you come quietly?" demands Policeman X. + +Antony Cowlrick is too exhausted to reply, and accepting his silence as +a challenge, his pursuers gave him no grace. They haul him to his feet, +and proceed to deal with him in their usual humane fashion. This causes +faint murmurs of remonstrance to proceed from him, and causes him, also, +to hold his arms before his face in protection, and to ask faintly, + +"What have I done?" + +"Ah!" say the four policemen, with a look of enquiry at him whose rattle +summoned them to the battlefield. + +The proud official--it is in truth a proud moment for him--utters but +two words; but they are sufficient to animate the policemen's breasts +with excess of ardour. + +"The murderer!" he whispers. + +The murderer! Had he spoken for an hour he could not have produced a +more thrilling effect; and be sure that he was as conscious of the value +of this dramatic point as the most skilful actor on our stage. A light +was instantly thrown upon the drama of the crime, and the unfortunate +man, in their eyes, was damned beyond hope of redemption. The murderer! +Blood swam before their eyes. Delightful moments! + +But the ears of the prisoner had caught the words. + +"What!" he screamed, making a violent attempt to wrench himself from +the grasp of his captors. Poor fool! He was one to five, and was soon +reduced to physical submission. The rough usage he received in the +course of the struggle appeared to tame him inwardly as well as +outwardly; when he spoke again his voice was calmer. + +"Do you accuse me of the murder of that man?" he asked, turning his face +towards 119, Great Porter Square. + +He was most surely condemning himself. + +"Yon know best whether you did it," observed Policeman X. + +"Yes," he replied, "I know best." + +"What were you doing there?" was the next enquiry. + +The man looked at them slowly, in detail, as though to fix their faces +in his memory, and then, opening his lips, smiled, but did not speak. +Nothing more exasperating could well have been imagined than the strange +smile of this wretched man--a smile which seemed to say, "You will learn +nothing from me." + +It was late in the night, but a crowd had already assembled, and the +whisper went round that the murderer of the man who was found so cruelly +murdered in No. 119, Great Porter Square, had been caught. Short shrift +would have been his, even in this law-loving city, if the excited +knot of persons could have had their way; but it was the duty of the +constables to protect their prisoner. + +"Will you come quietly?" they asked of him. + +"Why not?" he asked in return. "I shall be the gainer." + +So, carefully guarded and held as in a vice, the man walked to the +police-court with his captors, followed by the crowd. It was almost +a gala night, and the persons who hung at the heels of the supposed +murderer and his captors were vehement in speech and florid in action +as they explained to every new-comer the cause of the gathering. + +"What is the charge?" asked the inspector. + +Who should answer but the prisoner himself? Strange fancy of his to take +the words from the tongues of his accusers--to steal, as it were, the +very bread from their mouths! + +"Murder," he cried, with a bitter laugh. + +An almost imperceptible quiver agitated the eyelids of the inspector, +but it was in a quiet voice he repeated "Murder!" and held his pen +suspended over the book in which the charges were set down. + +"No. 119, Great Porter Square," added Policeman X, not willing to be +robbed of every one of his perquisites. + +The inspector's agitation was now more clearly exhibited. The murder was +a notable one--all London was ringing with it. His eyes wandered slowly +over the prisoner's form. + +The man's clothes were ragged, mudded, and shabby, but were without a +patch; his boots showed signs of travel; his face had been unshaven for +days. + +"Search him," said the inspector. + +The man resisted, his face flushing up at the order; he was not aware +that every fresh resistance to every fresh indignity was additional +confirmation of guilt. The web was closing round him, and he was +assisting to spin it. They found on him some stale bread and cheese. + +"Take care of it," he said tauntingly. + +They continued their search, and found nothing else--not a scrap of +paper, not a card, not a penny piece, not a knife even. It was most +perplexing and annoying. + +"Your name?" asked the inspector. + +The man laughed again bitterly. + +"Your name," repeated the inspector. + +"My name!" echoed the man, and then appeared to consider what answer it +was best to give. "What do you say to Antony Cowlrick?" + +"Is that the name you give?" inquired the inspector. + +"Take it," said the man defiantly, "in place of a better!" + +"Where do you live?" + +"Under the sky." + +No answers of a satisfactory nature could be obtained from him, and he +was taken to his cell, and orders were given that he should be watched +through the night. + +As Antony Cowlrick, the man was brought before the magistrate the next +morning, charged with the commission of the dreadful crime, and was +formally remanded for the production of evidence. + +We beg our readers not to be led away by the idea that we are writing +a romance; we are stating plain facts. Without a tittle of evidence to +implicate or connect him with the crime, the man Antony Cowlrick has +been brought up no fewer than seven times, and has been a prey to the +vulgar curiosity of eager crowds thronging to catch a glimpse of a +monster whose hands were dyed with the blood of a fellow-creature. +He has been treated as though he had already been found guilty--and, +indeed, in the minds of thousands of persons he _was_ found guilty; all +that was needed was to fix the day, and prepare the scaffold. Rumours, +false statements, columns of fiction, all tending to establish his guilt +and to eliminate from the breasts of his fellow-men every spark of pity +or mercy, have been freely and shamefully circulated. Our columns alone +have not been degraded by this cruelty and this injustice; from the +first we refused to believe in Antony Cowlrick's guilt, for the simple +reason that nothing could be adduced against him; and the course we have +pursued has been justified by the result. Antony Cowlrick is innocent. +But for weeks he has been confined in prison, and treated with +contumely. Yesterday he was brought before Mr. Reardon, at the Martin +Street Police Court, and, on the police stating that they had no further +evidence to offer, Antony Cowlrick was discharged. + +We do not say that he owes his release entirely to the generous advocacy +of Mr. Goldberry, but he is certainly indebted to that gentleman for an +earlier release from prison than the police would have been willing to +accord him. For if prisons were not filled there would be no need of +constables, and the common law of self-preservation induces all men +instinctively to adopt that course which will preserve and lengthen +their existence. Therefore, we say again, the prisons must be filled, +and in the performance of this duty the police assert the necessity of +their being. + +Now, how stands the case at the present moment? What is the position of +the Great Porter Square mystery? An innocent man has been arrested and +charged with the crime; after a detention of eight weeks he has been +discharged; and, during the whole of this interval, the police have been +following a wrong scent. That they knew absolutely nothing of the man +they falsely accused--that it is unknown where he has been lodging, and +how long he has been in London--that not a friend has come forward to +speak a word in his behalf, and that he himself has chosen to preserve a +strange and inexplicable silence about himself--these circumstances add +to the mystery. + +A startling coincidence presents itself; the man who was murdered is +unknown; the only man whom the police have arrested for the murder is +unknown. But it would be odd if, in such a city as London, with its +millions of human beings and its myriad of circumstances, strange and +startling coincidences did not frequently occur. + +There shall be no misconception of our meaning; there have been too +many instances lately of wrong done to individuals by false or reckless +swearing on the part of the police. The case of Frost and Smith, +condemned by Mr. Justice Hawkins respectively to fifteen and twelve +years' penal servitude, on the testimony of the police, for a crime they +did not commit, is fresh in the memory of our readers. The men are now +released, after undergoing two years' imprisonment--released, not by the +efforts of the police who swore away their liberty, nor by the jury who +condemned them, nor by the judge who sentenced them, but by means of +an anonymous letter and the arrest of the real criminals for another +crime--released really by an accident which, while it restores them to +liberty, cannot remove from them the taint of the gaol. But, it may be +urged, they have Her Gracious Majesty's Pardon. Sweet consolation! +A pardon for a crime they did not commit! Never was a word with a +gracious meaning to it more bitterly parodied than this; the use of the +word "pardon" by Home Secretaries, as applied to the men Frost and +Smith, is not only an unpardonable mockery, but a shameful insult. +Truly, red-tapeism, like charity, is made to cover a multitude of sins, +but it cannot cover this. + +We trust that the police have restored to Antony Cowlrick the +property--the only property--they found upon his person at the time +of his arrest; the pieces of stale bread and cheese. According to +appearance it is all he has to fight the world with. It is worthy of +note that Cowlrick made no application to the magistrate for relief. + +We have opened a subscription for the unfortunate man, and have already +two sovereigns in our possession, which we shall be happy to hand to +this last "victim of justice," if he will call at our office. + +To-morrow we shall have something more, something perhaps of the +greatest interest, to say with respect to Antony Cowlrick. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE "EVENING MOON" POSTPONES ITS STATEMENT RESPECTING ANTONY COWLRICK. + + +We hinted to our readers yesterday that we should have something of +great interest to lay before them to-day with respect to Antony +Cowlrick. For reasons which we shall in due time explain, we postpone +the statement until we can present it in a complete and satisfactory +form. We append a list of subscriptions which have been sent to us in +response to our announcement that we were ready to receive contributions +in aid of the unfortunate man. The signatures of some of the donors are +suggestive:--"One who was Wrongfully Convicted" sends 1s. 6d.; "A Poor +Widow, whose little boy, nine years of age, was lately sentenced to +three months' hard labour for breaking a window," sends a penny postage +stamp; "A man whose life was almost sworn away by the police" sends 6d.; +"One who has been there" sends 2s.; four "Lovers of Justice" send small +sums; "A Reformed Detective" sends 8d.; "A Poor Old Moke" sends 2d.; the +Secretary of a "Mutual Protection Society for the Education of Burglars' +Children" sends 5s.; "M.P.," who intends to ask a question when the +House meets, sends £3 3s.; and sundry others. The total amount now in +our hands is £23 4s. 7d., which we hold at the disposal of Antony +Cowlrick, who, despite his apparent poverty, has not thought fit to +call at our office to claim it. + +[Decoration] + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +IN WHICH THE "EVENING MOON" RELATES THE ADVENTURES OF ITS SPECIAL +CORRESPONDENT. + + +We have now to place before our readers an account of our proceedings +respecting Antony Cowlrick, falsely accused of the murder of a man (name +unknown) at No. 119, Great Porter Square. It is lengthy, but we have +resolved not to curtail it, and we shall continue it in our editions +to-day and to-morrow until it is completed. + +We preface our statement with an assurance that in the steps we took we +were actuated no less by a feeling of pity for Antony Cowlrick and a +wish to clear him completely in the eyes of the public, than by our +desire to obtain information which might aid in throwing light upon the +circumstances surrounding this mysterious murder. Fully conscious as we +are of the requirements of that advanced journalism which purists openly +censure and privately patronise, and which is an absolute necessity +of the age, we have been careful to keep within the circle of our +legitimate right and duty, and not to abuse the liberty of the press. + +It is not to be denied that there exists a growing desire to probe more +closely the life amongst which we live and move, and to lay bare the +arteries of a social system in which we one and all act our parts. Thus +it is that many persons (chiefly women), who a few years ago would never +have been heard of by the public, are now the theme of comment and +discussion in all classes of society--that their portraits are exposed +for sale in shop-windows--and that they are stared at and pointed at in +the theatres and other places of public resort. The greater number of +these poor creatures see no distinction between the terms notoriety and +celebrity; notorious, shamefully notorious--they certainly are; worthily +celebrated they can never become, let them pose as they will on the +stage or in the private rooms of the photographer. These and other new +aspects of society are a condition of the times. We are not now content +in the columns of our newspapers to deal with public matters in the +abstract; we insist upon knowing something of the character and motives +of those whose good or bad fortune it is to be prominently concerned +in the wonderful and varied drama of To-Day. Thus there is open to the +journalist a new and interesting province for his labours, and he who +does not shrink from his duty, and does his spiriting gently and with +discretion, will be the most likely to be followed and appreciated by +that greatest of all critics--the Public. + +Anticipating the release of Antony Cowlrick, we detailed a Special +Reporter to seek an interview with him when he left the Martin Street +Police Court, and to endeavour to obtain such information respecting +himself as might prove interesting to our readers. The task was a +delicate and difficult one, and we entrusted it to a gentleman, a member +of our staff, whose generous instincts and sympathetic nature have won +for him an unusual meed of respect. It has not yet become the fashion +for newspaper writers in England to append their names to their +contributions. The question whether the time has arrived for the +introduction of this system is worthy of serious consideration. By +the present system of anonymity, not only is opportunity afforded +for slandering and stabbing in the dark, but undoubted injustice is +inflicted upon many a conscientious and enthusiastic worker, who brings +to his labours such study, education, and culture, as in any other +department of life would make his name famous. Those behind the scenes +are familiar with the names of journalists whose knowledge of character, +quickness of comprehension, and readiness to seize the salient and most +striking features in the pictures of life they are employed to portray, +are little less than marvellous. Such workers as these are the true +painters and historians of the day, and supply more food for the mental +life of the world than the combined efforts of the labourers in every +other department of art and science. But the world knows them not; they +are deprived of the highest reward an art-worker can receive. + +"You are discharged," said the magistrate to Antony Cowlrick. + +The gaolers fell back. Antony Cowlrick mechanically passed his hands +over his wrists. There was a certain pathos in the action. The handcuffs +were no longer there, but they had left upon the wrists a degradation +that would not soon be forgotten. + +"I ask your worship to say," said Mr. Goldberry, addressing the +magistrate, "that this man, falsely accused, leaves the court without a +stain upon his character." + +"I cannot say that," replied the magistrate; "we know nothing of his +character." + +"Nothing has been proved against him," persisted Mr. Goldberry. + +"Nothing has been proved in his favour," said the magistrate. "Had you +proved that the accused had led a reputable and respectable life--had +a reasonable explanation been given of his presence in Great Porter +Square and of his motive in ascending the steps leading to the +street door of the house in which the murder was committed, and +trying the handle--had anything creditable as to his antecedents been +established--I should not have objected to some such expression of +opinion as you desire. But as the accused has chosen to surround himself +with mystery, he must be content with being discharged without the +solace of official sympathy. I do not approve of the action of the +police in this matter; neither do I approve of the course adopted by the +accused. He is discharged." + +Antony Cowlrick listened impatiently to this dialogue. For a moment +or two he lingered, as though he had a desire himself to speak to the +magistrate, but if he had any such intention he speedily relinquished +it, and with a slight shrug of his shoulders he pushed open the door of +the dock and stepped into the body of the court. + +Outside the police-court, Antony Cowlrick did not pause to look around +him: he scarcely seemed to be conscious of the eager faces of the +people who had waited to catch a glimpse of him. Taking advantage of an +opening in the crowd, he darted through it, and walked swiftly away. The +people walked swiftly after him, some running before to look up into his +face. This impelled him to walk still more swiftly, until presently he +began to run as if for a wager. + +These movements, especially the last, acted magnetically on the men, +women, and children congregated in Martin Street. As though animated by +one magical impulse they flew after him, shouting as they ran. There was +here presented the singular spectacle of a man just pronounced innocent +by the law being hunted down, immediately after his acquittal, by an +indiscriminate crowd, without reason or motive. + +He scarcely seemed to know the way he was flying. Through some of the +narrow turnings intersecting Drury Lane and Covent Garden, then westward +into the labyrinths of Soho, doubling back again towards Leicester +Square, raced Antony Cowlrick, in his endeavour to get rid of the +hunters, until those persons at a distance from Martin Street who were +drawn into the hunt by the contagion of the excitement began to scream +out, "Stop thief!" In an instant a chorus of voices took up the cry, +and "Stop thief! stop thief!" issued from a hundred throats. When that +sound reached Antony Cowlrick's ears he stopped--as suddenly as he had +fled--and confronted his pursuers. He found himself surrounded by a +multitude of excited faces, and within a couple of yards stood an +uninformed policeman, who stepped forward to take him into custody. But +Antony Cowlrick raised his arm threateningly, and the hunted man and the +constable glared at each other. Serious consequences might have ensued +had it not been for our Reporter, who worked his way to the front, and +stood by Antony Cowlrick's side. + +"There is a mistake, policeman," said our Reporter; "this man has done +nothing." + +The policeman immediately prepared to take our Reporter into custody +for obstructing him in the exercise of his duty, but he was baulked by +the appearance of two other policemen who, acting under instructions, +had followed the discharged prisoner, and by Mr. Goldberry, who had +accompanied them without consent. + +"It's all right," said the newly-arrived policeman. "Come--move along +there!" + +It is not to be supposed that they were animated by particularly +friendly feelings towards Antony Cowlrick; but if he belonged to anybody +he belonged to them, and they would not allow any interference with +their property. + +The crowd slowly dispersed, by no means in good humour; it really +appeared as though some among them were of the opinion that Antony +Cowlrick had inflicted a personal injury upon them by not having +committed a theft and allowing himself to be taken into custody. + +"Now, you," said one of the policemen to Antony Cowlrick, stretching +towards him an ominous forefinger, "had better mind what you are about, +or you'll be getting yourself into trouble." + +"Perhaps you will assist me in getting into it," replied Antony +Cowlrick. "You have, up till to-day, done your best, it must be +admitted." + +These were the first words our Reporter had heard Antony Cowlrick utter, +and they produced a singular impression upon him. The manner of their +utterance was that of a gentleman. There was a distinct refinement in +the voice and bearing of Antony Cowlrick which strangely contrasted with +his miserable appearance. + +The policeman had but one answer to this retort. + +"Move on!" + +"When it suits me," said Antony Cowlrick. "I am one man, alone +and unknown--that hurts you, probably. I am not obstructing the +thoroughfare; I am not begging; I am not hawking without a licence; I am +doing nothing unlawful. When it suits me to move on, I will move on. In +the meantime," he exclaimed, in an authoritative tone, "move you on!" + +The audacity of this order staggered the policemen, and they could find +no words to reply. + +Antony Cowlrick proceeded: + +"If a fresh crowd gathers round us--it is beginning to do so, I +perceive--it is you who are collecting it. You have no more right to +order me to move on than your comrades had--you are all alike, blue +coats, rattles, and truncheons--to arrest me in Great Porter Square." + +The policemen looked at one another, in a state of indecision; then +looked at our Reporter; then at Mr. Goldberry. They were evidently +perplexed, the right being clearly on Antony Cowlrick's side. Happily +for them, their eyes fell simultaneously upon the crowd of idlers +surrounding them, and, without more ado, they plunged wildly in, +and scattered the curiosity-mongers in all directions. Having thus +vindicated the majesty of the law, they moved reluctantly away, and +left the victor, Antony Cowlrick, upon the field. + +It happened that among the crowd was a woman who, taken unaware by the +sudden onslaught of the police, was roughly dealt with. Unable to stem +the rush of the dispersion, she was knocked about, and almost thrown +down. Saved by a helping hand, she escaped without injury, but she was +exhausted, and sat down upon a door-step to recover herself. There was +nothing especially noticeable in this incident, but it will be presently +seen that it has a singular bearing upon our narrative. + +A group of three persons, comprising our Reporter, Mr. Goldberry, and +Antony Cowlrick, standing together in Leicester Square, and a woman +sitting on a doorstep--these are the individuals in whom we are at +present interested. A policeman idles to and fro, at some distance, +with his eyes occasionally turned towards the group, but he does not +interfere. + +It was noon, and, as usual, a strange quietude reigned in Leicester +Square. This is its normal condition in the day-time, and is the more +remarkable because of the contiguity of the Square to the most infamous +thoroughfare in London--the Haymarket--wherein vice in its most +shameless and degrading aspects openly parades itself for sixteen hours +out of the twenty-four. + +"Can I be of any assistance to you?" asked Mr. Goldberry, of Antony +Cowlrick. + +"No," replied Antony Cowlrick, abruptly, and then, observing who it was +that spoke, added: "Your pardon! You are the gentleman who defended me?" +Mr. Goldberry nodded. "What was your motive?" + +"Compassion." + +Antony Cowlrick cast his eyes upon his ragged clothes, and passed his +hand over his face, upon which a two months' beard was growing. + +"I look a fit object of compassion. But I am not grateful to you. +I should have been discharged, some time or other, without your +assistance. There was no evidence, you see; and, after all, I may be +guilty of the murder." + +"I do not think you are," said Mr. Goldberry. + +"It is scarcely worth arguing about," remarked Antony Cowlrick. "He is +not the first, and will not be the last." + +"He! Who?" quickly asked Mr. Goldberry. + +"The man who was murdered in Great Porter Square." + +"Do you know anything of him?" + +"What should I know? Some interesting particulars concerning him will no +doubt one day be brought to light." Cowlrick paused a moment. "You are a +lawyer, and therefore a decent member of society. You go to church, and, +of course, believe in God." + +"Well?" + +"Well!" echoed Antony Cowlrick. "Do you think God will allow the guilty +to escape, or that He needs the assistance of a lawyer to punish the man +who sheds his brother's blood?" + +"His brother's blood!" exclaimed Mr. Goldberry. + +"Are we not all brothers!" said Antony Cowlrick with bitter emphasis. +"Do we not all live in charity with one another? Enough. I have no +desire to prolong this conversation; it can lead to no good result. But +I felt bound to answer you civilly, as it is barely possible, when you +rose in the police-court to defend me, that you were in part animated by +a kindly sentiment for an unfortunate man. On the other hand, you may +have been wholly impelled by a desire to advertise your name in an +important case of murder. But you shall have the benefit of the doubt. +Give me your card. If at any time I should need you, I will call upon or +send for you." + +It was with an air of patronage that this beggarly man spoke to the +well-to-do lawyer; but Mr. Goldberry, with admirable equanimity, +accepted the position, and handed Antony Cowlrick his card. + +"Can I do nothing more for you?" he asked. + +"Nothing more." + +Mr. Goldberry, before he took his departure, drew our Reporter aside. + +"You appear to be interested in the man?" he said. + +Our Reporter enlightened him. + +"I am a journalist, on the staff of the _Evening Moon_." + +"And on the look-out for paragraphs. You will find Antony Cowlrick worth +studying." + +"You believed in his innocence when you defended him. Do you believe in +it now?" + +Mr. Goldberry laughed. + +"I am not prepared to be interviewed. One thing is certain. There is a +mystery here, and I should like to obtain a clue to it. You may be more +successful than I." + +"He speaks like a gentleman." + +"We live in levelling times. There is no telling who is who. I have +heard a gentleman speak like a costermonger." + +This confidential communication between our Reporter and Mr. Goldberry +escaped the ears, but not the eyes, of Antony Cowlrick, and when Mr. +Goldberry left and our Reporter remained, he was the first to speak. + +"Has the lawyer deputed you to watch me?" + +"No," replied our Reporter. "I am a newspaper man, and should be glad if +you can give me any information for my paper?" + +"Information about what?" + +"Yourself." + +"Haven't the newspapers had enough of me? I haven't read one for many +weeks, but I guess their columns must have been filled with reports of +the proceedings at the Magistrate's Court." + +"You guess right. The murder committed in Great Porter Square was most +horrible, and the public have been much excited about it. The paper I am +on, the _Evening Moon_, was the only one which from the first declared +you to be innocent of the charge brought against you. Perhaps you would +like to read what we have written on the subject." + +Antony Cowlrick took the packet of papers which our Reporter had +prepared in anticipation of the emergency. + +"I have unknown friends, it seems." + +"It is a question of fair play, and, being a public matter, comes +within our province. See, here is yesterday's paper, stating that a +subscription is opened at our office for you." + +"You have taken an unwarrantable liberty in holding me forth as an +object of charity." + +"What has been done," said our Reporter, "has been done with good +intent. There was no desire to hurt your feelings, but you appeared, +and appear, to be in poverty." + +"Will you lend me a sovereign?" + +"Willingly. There were two at the office for you yesterday, and when I +left this morning not less than ten pounds had been received for the +subscription list." + +"A queer world we live in, do we not, with a public that one moment is +ready to tear a man to pieces, and the next to surfeit him with sweets? +I decline to accept your money. I would not touch it, though I am +really in want of a meal. I suppose, if you were to leave me this +instant, or I were to refuse to hold any further converse with you, you +would consider it your duty to write a flaming article about me for the +next edition of your paper?" + +"I should narrate what has passed, in fair and temperate language, I +hope." + +"I beg you," said Antony Cowlrick, earnestly, "to do me a great favour. +Do not drag me before the public to-day. Nay, nor to-morrow. Give me +three days' grace. It will be of service to me, and may help the cause +of justice." + +The last words were spoken with an air of hesitation. + +"If I promise to do this--providing my Chief consents, and I think he +will--you must allow me in return to become better acquainted with you." + +"Pick up what scraps you can, my literary Autolycus. Examine me well. +Describe my appearance, manners, and bearing. Say that I belie my +looks, and that I do not speak exactly like a ruffian. In all that, +shrewd as you may be, you can only see the outside of me. Understand, +if you please, that I shall not help you." + +"All right. Where do you intend to sleep to-night?" + +"God knows! I do not." + +"How are you going to live? Have you a trade?" + +Antony Cowlrick held out his hands. + +"Do these look like hands accustomed to hard work?" + +They were dirty with prison dirt, and were as soft and pliable as the +hands of a lady. At this point, as he stood with his hand in the hand +of our Reporter, the woman who had been knocked about by the crowd rose +from the doorstep. + +Our Reporter felt a nervous twitching in the hand he held, and, looking +up into the face of Antony Cowlrick, saw with surprise that it was +agitated by a sudden and powerful emotion. Antony Cowlrick's eyes were +fixed upon the woman, who was walking slowly away. + +She was young and fair, and in her movements there was an aimlessness +which did not speak well for her character. But, as Mr. Goldberry +observed, we live in levelling times, and it is hard to judge accurately +of a person's social position from dress and manner. The locality was +against this young and pretty woman; her being young and pretty was +against her; her apparent want of occupation was against her. But she +spoke to no one, looked at no one. + +Antony Cowlrick hastened after her. Our Reporter did not follow him. He +was not acting the part of a detective. What he did was in pursuance +of his duty, and it is not in his nature to give offence. Therefore he +stood where Antony Cowlrick left him, and waited for events. + +When Antony Cowlrick reached the woman's side, he touched her arm, and +spoke to her. She did not reply, but glanced carelessly at him, and, +averting her eyes with a gesture of repugnance, pursued her way. Before +she had taken three steps, Antony Cowlrick was again by her side. +Again he touched her arm and addressed her; and this time, instead of +attempting to avoid him, she turned and looked up at him. For a moment +doubt was expressed in her face--only for a moment. As though a sudden +and wonderful light had entered her soul, her face became illumined with +joy. She was pretty before; now she was beautiful. + +Some words of delight struggled to her lips, but died in their +utterance. Antony Cowlrick placed his hand on her mouth so that they +should not be spoken aloud--directing his eyes at the same time towards +the spot occupied by our Reporter. + +The woman pressed her hand upon the man's hand, still at her lips, and +kissed it passionately. + +Then she and Antony Cowlrick conversed hurriedly. Evidently questions +were being asked and answered--questions upon which much depended. The +last question asked by Antony Cowlrick was answered by the woman with a +sad shake of her head. He held her fingers in his hand, and seemed to +look at them inquiringly. Did he expect to find rings there which he +could convert into money? Her fingers were bare of ornament. He looked +at her ears, then at the bosom of her dress. She possessed neither +ear-rings nor brooch. + +Under such circumstances as these, speech was not needed for the +understanding of what was passing between the haggard, unshaven, +poverty-stricken man and the equally poor and beautiful woman. + +Antony Cowlrick did not hesitate long. A dozen strides brought him to +our Reporter. + +"I have found a friend," he said. + +"So I perceive," replied our Reporter. + +"You offered awhile ago to lend me a sovereign. I refused to accept it. +Will you lend it me now?" + +Our Reporter gave it to him instantly, without a word. + +The swift graciousness of the response appeared to touch Antony +Cowlrick, and an expression of gratitude dwelt on his features. + +"I thank you. My gratitude will remain ever as a debt. I appreciate your +delicacy in not intruding upon my interview with my friend." + +"She is not a new friend," observed our Reporter. + +"No, indeed," was the reply. + +"It seems to me that she might have appeared at the police-court to give +evidence in your favour." + +"Supposing she could say anything _in_ my favour." + +"It is evident that she would say nothing to harm you. Her joy at +meeting you was too palpable." + +"You have a trick of keen observation. Perhaps she did not know of my +awkward position." + +"How could she help knowing it when your name has been so prominent in +the papers for weeks?" + +"My name? Ah, I forgot. But I cannot offer you a satisfactory +explanation. More than ever now will unnecessary and immediate publicity +be likely to injure me. You will keep your promise--for three days you +will not write about me?" + +"I will keep my promise. At the end of three days I shall simply publish +what has passed between ourselves and Mr. Goldberry." + +"It seems to me to be singularly devoid of interest." + +"You are mistaken. Newspaper readers peruse such details as these with +eagerness. You must not forget that you are in some way, near or remote, +connected with an atrocious crime." + +"You foil me at every point. Good-day." + +"Good-day!" exclaimed our Reporter. "Shall I not see you again?" + +"You will, if you play the spy upon me." + +"I shall not do that. But you promised to afford me an opportunity of +becoming better acquainted with you." + +"That is true. Wait a moment." + +He rejoined the woman, and after exchanging a few words with her, +returned to our Reporter. + +"You will not publish the address I am about to give you?" + +"Not if you do not wish it." + +"I do not wish it. We must not play with reputations--especially with +the reputation of a woman. Have you pencil and paper? Thank you. Call +to-night at ten o'clock at this address." + +He wrote an address in our Reporter's note-book, and, directly +afterwards, left Leicester Square with his newly-found friend. As he +turned in the direction of Piccadilly, he hailed a cab, into which he +and his companion hastily scrambled. + +By ten o'clock that night our Reporter paused before the door of the +house in which he expected to find Antony Cowlrick, and debated with +himself whether he should inquire for the man by name. It was quite +natural, he thought, that a person who had been placed in a position +so unpleasant as Antony Cowlrick should wish to avoid the disagreeable +curiosity of prying eyes and vulgar tongues, and that in a new lodging +he should give another name than his own. The house was situated in one +of the lowest neighbourhoods, where only the poorest people dwell. There +were at least half-a-dozen small bells on the right hand side of the +door, and our Reporter fell into deep disgrace by pulling them one after +another, and bringing down persons whose faces were strange to him. + +He felt himself in a difficulty, when, giving a description of the +man and the woman he wished to see, one lodger said, "O, it's the +second-floor back;" and another said, "Oh, it's the third-floor front;" +and another said, "What do yer mean by comin' 'ere at this time o' night +rousing up people as want to be abed and asleep?" Now, this last rebuke +was not taken in good part by our Reporter, whose knowledge of the slums +of London, being somewhat extensive, had led him to the belief that +householders and lodgers in these localities seldom go to bed before +the public-house lights are put out. Sad, indeed, is it to reflect that +the Gin-shop is the Church of the Poor, and that it is open from early +morn till midnight to lead poverty and ignorance to lower and lower +depths, in which it is impossible for purity and innocence to find a +resting place! + +At length, in despair, our Reporter, having no alternative, inquired +of a woman in the house whether a person of the name of Cowlrick was +within. The woman looked suspiciously at our Reporter, and said she +would call "her man." Her man came, and our Reporter repeated his +question. + +"Cowlrick!" cried the man. "Send I may live if that ain't the name of +the feller as was up at the perlice court for the murder in Great Porter +Square! Yer don't mean to say that it's 'im you've come to inquire for +at a respectable 'ouse?" + +"Shut the door in his face, Jim!" called out the woman, from the top of +the stairs. + +No sooner said than done. The door was slammed in our Reporter's face, +and he was "left out in the cold," as the saying is. + +What, now, was our Reporter to do? He had no intention of giving up his +search; the woof of his nature is strong and tough, and difficulties +rather inspire than depress him. Within a stone's throw from a weak +hand there were six public-houses; within a stone's throw from any +one of these were half-a-dozen other public-houses. It was as though +a huge pepper-box, filled with public-houses, had been shaken over +the neighbourhood. There was a certain peculiarity in the order and +arrangement of their fall. Most of them had fallen into the corners of +the courts and narrow streets. There must be a Providence in this--a +Providence which, watching over the welfare of brewers and distillers, +has conferred upon them and upon their heirs and assigns an inalienable +right in the corners of every street and lane in the restless Babylonian +City. + +Our Reporter made the rounds of these public-houses, ordered liquor in +every one of them, and poured it on the floor--to the indignation of +many topers, who called it "sinful waste;" especially to the indignation +of one blear-eyed, grey-haired, old woman, with three long strong hairs +sticking out of her chin. This old creature, who looked as if she had +just stepped away from the witches' cauldron in Macbeth (the brew there +not being strong enough), screamed out to our Reporter, "You'll come to +want! You'll come to want! For Gawd's sake, don't spill it, my dear! +Give it to me--give it to me!" and struggled with him for the liquor. + +Within half-an-hour of midnight our Reporter found himself once more +before the house in which he supposed Antony Cowlrick would sleep +that night. But he was puzzled what to do. To ring the bells again was +hazardous. He determined to wait until a lodger entered the house; then +he himself would enter and try the chamber doors. + +The minutes passed. No guardian angel of a lodger came to his aid. But +all at once he felt a tug at his trousers. He looked down. It was a +little girl. A very mite of a girl. + +"If yer please, sir----" + +"Yes, little one," said our Reporter. + +"Will yer pull the blue bell, and knock five times? I can't reach." + +[Decoration] + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + THE SPECIAL REPORTER OF THE "EVENING MOON" MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF + A LITTLE MATCH GIRL. + + +Pull the blue bell, and knock five times! + +The request was not to be denied. That the small party who made it could +_not_ "reach" was self-evident, for she was scarcely three feet and a +half in height. But to say, "pull the blue bell" was one thing, and to +pull the blue bell was another. Our Reporter had pulled every bell on +the door, as he believed, and he looked in vain for a blue one. + +"I don't see the blue bell, little girl," he said. + +"Yes, yer do," replied the little girl, with audacious effrontery. "Not +where yer looking! It's all by itself on the other side." + +Our Reporter found the bell, "all by itself," on the left hand side of +the door, where bells usually are not, and he pulled it, and knocked +five times slowly. + +"That ain't right!" cried the little girl; her voice came as loud and +shrill as if it proceeded from the throat of a canary. "Yer must knock +like a postman, and a little 'un in--rat-tat, rat-tat, tat!" + +Our Reporter obeyed, fully expecting to be assaulted for kicking up such +a row so late in the night; but no one took any notice of him, and no +one answered the ring and the knocks. + +The little girl waited patiently, much more patiently than our Reporter, +who rang and knocked again with the air of a man who was engaged in a +contest and was getting the worst of it. + +"Must I give it up?" he mentally asked himself, and answering +immediately, "No, I will see Antony Cowlrick to-night, or I'll know the +reason why." Then he looked down at the form of the little girl, and +called, "Little girl!" + +The little girl did not reply. She was leaning against the door-post in +a state of perfect contentment. The particular house with which our +Reporter might be said to be wrestling was in the shade; there was no +lamp-post within twenty yards of it, and the night was dark. + +"Little girl!" repeated our Reporter, in a louder voice. + +Still no reply. + +He leant down, and placed his hands on her shoulders. She did not move. +He stooped lower, and looked into her face. She was fast asleep. + +Even in the dark he saw how much she was to be pitied. Her poor wan face +was dirty, and traces of tears were on it; her hair hung in thick knots +over her forehead; her hands were begrimed; her clothes were rags; on +her feet were a pair of what once were dancing shoes, and had twinkled +in the ballet. They were half-a-dozen sizes too large for the little +feet, and were tied to her ankles with pieces of twine. Their glory was +gone indeed, and, though they had once been satin, they were fit only +for the rag-bag or the dust-hole. + +"Poor child!" sighed our Reporter. "It is easy to see what you are +growing up into!" + +He whispered in her ear, "Wake up, little one! I've knocked loud enough +to raise the dead, and no one answers. Wake up!" + +As she made no movement, he shook her, gently and with tenderness, +whereupon she murmured some words, but so indistinctly that he did not +gather their import. + +"Eh?" he said, placing his ear to her lips. "What did you say?" + +"Two boxes a penny," she murmured. "Please buy a box!--starving mother +at 'ome!" + +A woman shuffled along the street, and stopped before the house, with +the supper beer in a brown jug. As she opened the door with the +latch-key, she glanced at the sleeping child. + +"Why, it's little Fanny!" she cried. + +"Who asked me," added our Reporter, "to pull the blue bell, and knock +five times?" + +"Yes," observed the woman. "Third-floor back." + +"The young woman," said our Reporter, taking up the cue, and slipping +sixpence into the woman's hand--(when do our poor refuse alms?)--"the +young woman in the third-floor back--is she at home?" + +"Goodness only knows," replied the woman, who, having accepted the +money, felt that she must earn it; "she's that quiet, is Blanche, that +there's no telling when she's in or when she's out." + +"Let me see," said our Reporter, pretending to consider, "how long has +Blanche lived in the house?" + +"About three months, I should say. Pretty, ain't she?" + +"Very. Young, too, to be the mother of little Fanny here." + +"Lord love you!" exclaimed the woman; "little Fanny's no relation of +her'n. She's a single woman is Blanche. I thought you was a friend." + +"So I am. But this is the first time I've been here to see her." + +"You're the first I've ever seen come after her." + +"She has not many friends, then?" + +"Not one that I know of." + +"She has had an old friend with her to-day," said our Reporter, thinking +he might by this question obtain some information of Antony Cowlrick. + +"Has she? I'm glad to hear it. I've wondered a good deal about the girl, +and so has all of us in the street. She don't mix with us free like. Not +that she ain't affable! But she keeps herself to herself. I must go in +now," said the woman, with a giggle, "or my old man'll think I've run +off with somebody." + +She entered the house, and our Reporter, with little Fanny asleep in his +arms, followed. On the first floor the woman vanished, and he pursued +his way to the third. The stairs were in utter darkness, and he had +to exercise great care to save his shins and to avoid disturbing the +lodgers in the house. In due time he reached the third floor, and struck +a match. There were only two doors on the landing, and he saw at once +which of the two led to the back room. He knocked, and received no +response; and then he tried the handle of the door. It gave way, and he +was in the room, in utter darkness. + +"I beg your pardon," he said, addressing, as he believed, the occupant, +"but as no one answered"---- + +He did not finish the sentence, for the stillness of the room affected +him. His position was certainly a perplexing one. He listened for the +breathing of some person, but heard none. + +"Antony Cowlrick," he thought, "have you been playing me a trick?" + +He struck another match, and lit a candle which was on a small table. +Then he looked around. The room was empty. + +"Now," thought our Reporter, "if this is not the room in which Antony +Cowlrick led me to expect he would receive me, and the tenant proper +_him_self or _her_self should suddenly appear, I shall scarcely be +prepared to offer a reasonable excuse for my intrusion." + +No articles of clothing were in sight to enlighten him as to the sex of +the tenant of this third-floor back. There was a bed in decent order, +and he laid little Fanny upon it. Having done this, he noticed that food +was on the table--the remains of a loaf cut in slices, with a scraping +of butter on them, a small quantity of tea screwed up in paper, and a +saucer with about an ounce of brown sugar in it. + +"Not exactly a Rothschild," mused our Reporter, "but quite as happy +perhaps." + +For our Reporter has his own views of things, and contends that more +happiness is to be found among the poor than among the rich. + +Continuing his investigations, our Reporter was not long before he made +an important discovery. Exactly in front of the slice of bread and +butter on the table was a chair, upon which the person who appeared to +be invited to the frugal supper would naturally sit, and exactly behind +the bread and butter was a piece of paper, set up on end, upon which was +written: + +"Dear little Fanny. Good-bye. If ever I am rich I will try and find you. +Look on the mantelshelf." + +There was a peculiarity in the writing. The letters forming the name +"Fanny" were traced in large capital letters, such as a child who could +not read fine writing might be able to spell; the rest was written in +small hand. + +Our reporter argued the matter logically thus: The little girl asleep on +the bed could not read, but understood the large letters in which her +name was written. The supper on the table was set out for her. Preparing +to partake of it, her eyes would fall on the paper, and she would see +her name upon it. Curiosity to know what else was written would impel +her to seek a lodger in the house--perhaps the landlady--who would read +the message aloud to her, and would look on the mantelshelf. + +Why should not our Reporter himself read the message to little Fanny, +and why should he not look on the mantelshelf? + +He did the latter without further cogitation. Upon the mantelshelf he +found two unsealed envelopes, with writing on them. Each contained +money. + +One was addressed "For Fanny." It contained a shilling. On the other was +written: "Mrs. Rogers, landlady. If a gentleman engaged upon a newspaper +calls to see Blanche and a friend whom she met in Leicester Square +to-day, please give him the enclosed. Blanche is not coming back. Her +rent is paid up to next Saturday. Good-bye." + +He had not, then, entered the wrong apartment. This room had been +occupied by Antony Cowlrick's fair friend, and the enclosure was for our +Reporter. + +He took it out; it was a sealed letter. He opened it, and read, as a +sovereign fell to the floor:-- + + "SIR,--I am enabled thus soon to repay you the sovereign you so + generously lent me to-day. Had it been out of my power to do so + to-night you would most probably have seen me as you expected. It is + better as it is, for I have nothing to communicate which I desire to + make public. I shall ever retain a lively sense of your kindness, + and I depend upon the fulfilment of your promise not to write about + me in your paper for three days. If you do not know what else to do + with the money received by your paper in response to its appeal for + subscriptions on my behalf, I can tell you. Give it to the + poor.--Your faithful servant, + + "ANTONY COWLRICK." + +The handwriting was that of an educated man, and the mystery surrounding +Antony Cowlrick was deepened by the last proceeding. + +A voice from the bed aroused our Reporter from his meditations. Little +Fanny was awake, and was calling for Blanche. + +"Blanche is not in yet," said our Reporter. "Come and eat your supper." + +The little girl struggled to her feet, and approached the table. The +curiosity of our Reporter was strongly excited, and before giving Fanny +the message and the shilling left for her by Blanche, he determined to +question her. Thereupon the following colloquy ensued:-- + +Our Reporter: This _is_ your supper, Fanny. + +Fanny (carefully spreading the brown sugar over her bread): Yes. Blanche +never forgits me. + +Our Reporter: Sugar every night? + +Fanny: Yes, I likes it. + +Our Reporter: Blanche is not your mother? + +Fanny (with her mouth full): Lor! No. + +Our Reporter: Is she your aunt or your cousin? + +Fanny: Lor! No. She ain't nothink to me but a---- a---- + +Our Reporter (prompting, seeing that Fanny was in a difficulty): Friend? + +Fanny: More nor that. A brick! + +Our Reporter: She is good to you? + +Fanny: There ain't nobody like her. + +Our Reporter: What are you? + +Fanny (laughing): Wot am I? A gal. + +Our Reporter: Do you go to school? + +Fanny (with a cunning shake of her head): Ketch me at it! + +Our Reporter: What do you do? + +Fanny: I sells matches--two boxes a penny--and I falls asleep on purpose +in front of the Nacheral Gallery. + +Our Reporter: The National Gallery. In Trafalgar Square, where the +fountains are? + +Fanny: That's the place--where the little man without legs plays the +accorgeon. + +Our Reporter: Why do you fall asleep there? + +Fanny (with a sad, wistful smile): That's mother's little game. She +makes me. + +Our Reporter: Mother's little game! Then you have a mother? + +Fanny (shuddering): Raythur. + +Our Reporter: Where does she live? + +Fanny: At the pub round the corner, mostly--the Good Sir Mary Tun--till +they turns her out. + +Our Reporter: The Good Samaritan. But why does your mother make you fall +asleep on purpose in front of the National Gallery? + +Fanny: Don't yer see? It's a dodge. Mother gives me twelve boxes o' +matches, and I've got to sell 'em. If I don't, I gits toko! Well, I +don't always sell 'em, though I try ever so 'ard. Then I falls down +on the pavement up agin the wall, or I sets down on the church steps +oppersite, with the boxes o' matches in my 'and, and I goes to sleep. +Pretends to, yer know; I'm wide awake all the time, I am. A lady and +gent comin' from the theaytre, stops and looks at me. "Poor little +thing!" _she_ ses. "Come along!" _he_ ses. Sometimes the lady won't +come along, and she bends over, and puts 'er 'and on my shoulder. "Why +don't yer go 'ome?" she ses. "I can't, mem," I ses, "till I've sold my +matches." Then she gives me a copper, but don't take my matches; and +other gents and ladies as stops to look gives me somethink--I've 'ad as +much as a shillin' give me in a lump, more nor once. When they're gone, +mother comes, and wrenches my 'and open, and takes the money, and ses, +"Go to sleep agin you little warmint, or I'll break every bone in yer +body!" Then I shuts my eyes, and the game's played all over agin. + +Our Reporter: Is your mother near you all the while, Fanny, that she +comes and takes the money from you? + +Fanny: Lor! No! That would spoil the game. She's watchin' on the other +side of Trafalgar Square. She knows 'er book, does mother! Sometimes I'm +so tired that I falls asleep in real earnest, and then I ketches +it--'ot! + +Our Reporter: Does she beat you? + +Fanny: Does she miss a chance? + +The child hitches her shoulder out of her ragged frock, and our +Reporter sees on the poor thin back, the bladebones of which stick +up like knives, the marks of welts and bruises. There is room in our +literature for another kind of book on "The Mothers of England" than +that written by a celebrated authoress many years ago. Fanny's poor +little back is black and blue, and when our Reporter, with gentle +finger, touches one of the bruises, the child quivers with pain. + +Our Reporter: Altogether, Fanny, your life is not a rosy one? + +Fanny: O, I 'ave lots of larks with the boys! And I've got some 'air. + +Our Reporter (very much puzzled): Some what? + +Fanny: Some 'air. I'll show yer. + +She jumps from her chair, creeps under the bed, and emerges presently, +her face flushed and excited, with something wrapped in a piece of old +newspaper. She displays her treasure to our astonished Reporter. It is +a chignon, apparently made of tow, which she fixes proudly on her head. +The colour is many shades lighter than Fanny's own hair, which is a +pretty dark brown, but that is of the smallest consequence to the child, +who evidently believes that the chignon makes a woman of fashion of her. + +Fanny: I wears it on Sundays, when I goes to the Embankment. Mother +don't know I've got it. If she did, she'd take it from me, and wear it +'erself. I say--ain't it splendid, the Embankment? + +Our Reporter: It is a fine place, Fanny. So you have larks with the +boys? + +Fanny: Yes. We goes to the play on the sly. 'Tain't a month ago since +Bob the Swell comes and ses, "Fanny, wot do yer say to goin' and seein' +'Drink' at the Princesses? Give us a kiss, and I'll treat yer!" My! I +was ready to jump out of my skin! He 'ad two other gals with 'im. He +ses, ses Bob, "This is a lady's party. It's a wim of mine"--I don't know +wot he means by that, but he ses--"it's a wim of mine. I wos allus a +lady's man, wosn't I, Fan?" (And he is, a regular one!) "I've got three +young women to my own cheek, all a-growin' and a-blowin'! Let's trot." +Wot a night we 'ad! He takes us to a 'Talian ice-shop in Williers +Street, and we 'as penny ices, and then we goes to the Princesses--to +the best part of the theaytre, 'igh up, where you can look down on +all the other people. 'Ave you seen 'Drink?' Prime--ain't it? But I +shouldn't like to be one o' them gals as throws pails of water over each +other. And when Coop-o falls from the scaffoldin'--ain't it nacheral! I +almost cried my eyes out when he was 'aving dinner with 'is little gal. +Then he gits the trembles, and goes on awful. I never seed one so bad as +that! When the play's over Bob takes us to a pub'---- + +Our Reporter (shocked): Fanny! + +Fanny: Wot's the matter? + +Our Reporter: You don't drink, I hope? + +Fanny: Yes, I does--but not what Bob the Swell drinks. I likes water +with raspberry jam in it, stirred up. I 'ad some white satin once, but +it made me sick. That night Bob drinks beer, and the other gals too. I +was genteel; I 'ad lemonade. I got a wollopin' when I got 'ome. Mother +was waitin' for me outside the Good Sir Mary Tun; I tried to dodge 'er, +but it was no go; she caught me and give it me. "That'll teach yer," she +said, "to leave your pore mother with a throat as dry as a salt 'erring, +while you go gallivantin' about with a parcel of boys!" I didn't mind; +it was worth the wollopin'. + +Our Reporter: Now, let us talk about Blanche. + +Fanny: Yes. 'Ow late she is to-night! + +Our Reporter: Have you known her long, Fanny? + +Fanny: Ever since she's bin 'ere. + +Our Reporter: About three months? + +Fanny: I can't count. It was a 'ot night--late, and I was cryin'; I +couldn't help it--I wos 'ungry, and mother 'ad been givin' it to me. +Blanche comes up, and arks a lot of questions--just the same as you've +been doin'; then she brings me 'ome 'ere, and I've slept with 'er ever +since. + +Our Reporter: Does she work? + +Fanny: I never seed 'er. She don't do nothink. + +Our Reporter: And no one comes to see her? + +Fanny: Not as I knows on. Look 'ere! You don't want to 'urt 'er, do you? + +Our Reporter: No, Fanny. I would like to be a good friend to her, but I +am afraid she has put it out of my power. You would be sorry if she went +away from you? + +Fanny (slowly, after a pause): I don't know what I should do if she did. +Are yer makin' game of me? Who are yer? + +Our Reporter: A friend of yours, Fanny, if you like. Do you see this +paper? It was left for you. + +Fanny: There's my name on it. I can read _that_. Wot else does it say? + +Our Reporter: Listen. (He reads.) "Dear little Fanny. Good bye. If ever +I am rich I will try and find you. Look on the mantelshelf." You were +asleep, Fanny, and I looked on the mantel shelf. This was there for you. +(He gives her the shilling.) + +Fanny (turning the shilling over and over in her hand): I don't know wot +it means. Please read it agin--the fust part. + +Our Reporter (after reading the farewell again): It means, Fanny, that +Blanche is gone, and that if she is fortunate she will be kind to you +by-and-bye. + +Fanny's head sinks on the table, and her little body is shaken with +sobs. In vain does our Reporter attempt to comfort her, and at length he +is compelled to leave her alone in the humble room in which poor Fanny +has learnt a lesson of love which will abide with her, and, let us hope, +will purify her days. + +[Decoration] + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE "EVENING MOON" FOR A TIME TAKES LEAVE OF THE CASE OF ANTONY +COWLRICK. + + +We have but little to add to the graphic statement of our Special +Reporter. He paid altogether three visits to the house in which Antony +Cowlrick's female friend, Blanche, rented a room; the last visit was +paid at noon of this day. His desire was to obtain some information +relating to the young woman's history; he has been unsuccessful. +Nothing is known of her history; she made her first appearance in the +neighbourhood about three months ago, took a furnished room, lived a +quiet life, and did not mix with the neighbours. She was never seen in +public-houses, and had no visitors. All that is known of her relates +to the little match girl, Fanny, her kindness to whom is the theme of +admiration and praise. Her name was Blanche--simply Blanche; she gave +and was asked for no other. The police have nothing to say against +her. There are few single young women living alone in the locality in +which Blanche resided against whom the tongue of scandal is not busy, +generally, it must be admitted, with sufficient reason; but nothing has +been elicited to the discredit of Blanche. Thus far, her record is a +good one. + +Nothing has been seen of Antony Cowlrick; he has vanished utterly from +the sight of the police, who, although he was acquitted of the charge +they brought against him, had determined to keep their eye on him. He +has proved himself more than their match. The description given of him +by our Special Reporter is that of a man of medium height, probably +five feet eight inches, with spare frame, lithe and sinewy. His hair +is auburn, and appeared to grow freely. This free growth, and the +circumstance of his having been unshaved for weeks, render it difficult +to describe his features; all that can be said on this point is that +his face was haggard and distressed, and that there dwelt upon it an +expression which denoted deep trouble and perplexity. Every person who +has followed this case in our columns, and who has carefully read the +accounts we have presented to our readers, must feel a deep interest in +the man. The impression he made upon our Special Reporter--the prompt +repayment of the sovereign he borrowed--his language and manners--even +the collateral evidence supplied by what is known of his friend +Blanche--all tell in his favour. And stronger than every circumstance +combined are the concluding words of his letter to our Special Reporter. +"If you do not know what else to do with the money received by your +paper in response to its appeal for subscriptions on my behalf, I can +tell you--give it to the poor." There spoke a man in whose bosom beats +the true pulse of a lofty humanity. Antony Cowlrick, who, without +doubt, since his release, has read all that has appeared in our columns +concerning him, is aware that our last edition of yesterday contained a +full list of subscriptions sent to our office for him, the total amount +being £68 17s. It is a sum worth having, and might be supposed to be +especially acceptable to a man in Antony Cowlrick's apparently destitute +condition--a man upon whose person, when he was arrested, was found some +stale bread and cheese, and not a penny of money. In the face of this +evidence of poverty, Antony Cowlrick has not called for the handsome sum +we hold in trust for him, and has instructed us to give it to the poor. +We shall do so in a week from this date, unless Antony Cowlrick presents +himself at our office to receive it; or unless those who have subscribed +object. We trust they will not withdraw their subscriptions, which we +promise shall be faithfully and worthily applied in charity's cause. + +Here, then, for the present, we leave the subject which has occupied so +large a portion of our space. The man murdered in the house, No. 119 +Great Porter Square, lies in his grave, and his murderer is still at +large. Any of our readers may have come in contact with him this very +day; we ourselves may have walked elbow to elbow with him in the crowded +thoroughfares; and he will, of a certainty, if he be in England, read +to-night the words we are now writing. Tremble, thou unspeakable +monster! Though thou escape thy doom at the bar of earthly justice, +God's hand lies heavy upon thee, and shall weigh thee down until the +Judgment Day, when thou and thy victim shall stand face to face before +the eternal throne! + +[Decoration] + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +MRS. PREEDY HAS DREADFUL DREAMS. + + +So profound was the sleep of Mrs. Preedy, lodging-house keeper, whom we +left slumbering in the first chapter of our story, that we have been +able, without disturbing her, to make the foregoing extracts from the +copies of the _Evening Moon_ which lay on the table immediately beneath +her nose. Deep as were her slumbers, they were not peaceful. Murder +was in her brain, and it presented itself to her in a thousand hideous +and grotesque shapes. Overwhelming, indeed, was her trouble. Only that +morning had she said to Mrs. Beale, a bosom friend and neighbour on the +other side of the Square-- + +"I shall never rest easy in my mind till the man's caught and hung!" + +Dreams, it is said, "go by contrary." If you dream of a marriage, it +means death; if you dream of death, it means marriage. Happy augury, +then, that Mrs. Preedy should dream that her dead and buried husband, +her "blessed angel," was alive, that he had committed the murder, and +that she was putting on her best black to see him hanged. Curious to +say, in her unconscious state, this otherwise distressing dream was +rather enjoyable, for through the tangled threads of the crime and +its punishment ran the refrain of a reproach she used to hurl at her +husband, when fortune went against him, to the effect that she always +knew he would come to a bad end. So altogether, it was a comfortable +hanging--Mr. Preedy being dead and out of the reach of danger, and Mrs. +Preedy being alive to enjoy it. + +A more grotesque fancy was it to dream that the wooden old impostor +in the weather indicator on her mantelshelf was the murderer. This +antiquated farmer, who was about four inches in height, unhooked himself +from his catgut suspender, slid down to the ground, and stood upon the +floor of the kitchen, with Murder in his Liliputian carcase. With no +sense of wonder did the dreamer observe the movements of this incredible +dwarf-man. He looked around warily, his wooden finger at his wooden +lips. All was quiet. He walked to the wall, covering about a quarter +of an inch at every step, and rapped at it. A small hole appeared; he +vanished through it. The opening was too small for Mrs. Preedy's body, +and the current of her fancies carried her to a chair, upon which she +sat and waited for the murderer's return. The opening in the wall led to +the next house, No. 119, and the sleeper knew that, as she waited, the +dreadful deed was being done. The wooden old impostor returned, with +satisfaction in his face and blood on his fingers, which he wiped on +Mrs. Preedy's apron. He slid up to his bower in the weather indicator, +and re-hooked himself on to his catgut suspender, and stood "trembling +in the balance," but perfectly easy in his mind, predicting foul +weather. + +"Ah, my man," said Mrs. Preedy, in her sleep, shaking her fist at him, +"it will be foul weather for you to-morrow, when I have you taken up and +hanged for it!" + +Then came another fancy, that he had murdered the wooden young woman +in her bower (so that she should not appear as a witness), and that it +would never be fine weather any more. + +These and other fancies faded and were blotted out, as though they had +never been, and a dread silence fell upon the soul of the slumbering +woman. + +She was alone in a room, from which there was no outlet but a door +which was locked on the outside. No person was within hail. She was cut +off from the world, and from all chance of help. She had been asleep, +dreaming of an incident in her childhood's days. A dream within a dream. + +From the inner dream she was suddenly awakened. Still asleep, and +nodding over the table, upon which lay the copies of the _Evening Moon_, +she believed herself to be awake. What had roused her? A footfall upon +the stairs in the upper part of the house. + +It was a deserted house, containing no other occupant but herself. The +door was locked; it was impossible to get out. The very bed in which she +lay was a prison; she could not move from it. Afraid almost to breathe, +she listened in fear to the sound which had fallen on her sleeping +senses. + +She knew exactly how the house was built--was familiar with every room +and every stair. Another footfall--another--a long pause between each. +The man, who was creeping down to her chamber to murder her, was +descending the staircase which led from the third to the second floor. +He reached it, and paused again. + +There was no doubt about his intention. In her dream, it appeared as if +she knew the whole history of this murderer, and that he was the terror +of every householder in London. He worked in secret, and always with +fatal, deadly effect. He left nothing to chance. And Mrs. Preedy was to +be his next victim. + +She could not avert her doom; she could only wait for it. + +From the second floor to the first, step by step, she followed him +in her imagination. Slow and sure was his progress. Frantic were her +efforts to escape from the bed, but the sheets held her tight, like +sheets of steel. + + * * * * * + +In reality a man _was_ descending the stairs to the kitchen. There was +something stealthy in his movements which curiously contrasted with a +certain air of bravado, which, if it were assumed, was entirely thrown +away, as no eye was on him as he crept from the top of the house to the +bottom. + + * * * * * + +In her dream, influenced as dreams are in an excited brain by any sound, +however light, Mrs. Preedy accompanied this man in his slow progress +from his attic to her kitchen. He reached the landing, which led this +way to the street door, and that to the room in which Mrs. Preedy lay in +her nightmare of terror. Which direction would he take? + +Downwards!--to the bed in which she was imprisoned. Her last moments +were approaching. + +She strove to think of a prayer, but her tongue clave to the roof of her +mouth. Closer--closer--he came. He opened the door, and stood upon the +threshold. The louder sound than the sound of his steps aroused her to +full consciousness, and, opening her eyes, she confronted him with a +face white with fear. + +[Decoration] + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +MRS. PREEDY'S YOUNG MAN LODGER. + + +The door of the kitchen opened outwards into the passage, and the man, +turning the handle with his right hand, stood upon the threshold with +his left raised and resting, for support, upon the framework. In Mrs. +Preedy's imagination, the concealed hand held the deadly weapon with +which she was to be murdered. There was, however, nothing very murderous +in the intruder's face, and when he advanced a step and his arms fell +peaceably by his sides, Mrs. Preedy saw, with a sigh of relief, that his +hands were empty. This sigh of relief was accompanied by a recognition +of the man, in whom she beheld a lodger named Richard Manx, who had +been her tenant for exactly three weeks, and was exactly three weeks +in arrear of his rent. Mrs Preedy called him her young man lodger. + +He was probably younger than he looked, for his complexion was dark and +his black hair was thick and long. His eyes were singularly bright, and +had a cat-like glare in them--so that one might be forgiven the fancy +that, like a cat's, they would shine in the dark. He spoke with a +slightly foreign accent, and his mode of expression may be described +as various, affording no clue to his nationality. + +Mrs. Preedy was re-assured. The frightful impressions produced by her +dream died away, and the instincts of the professional landlady asserted +themselves. "My young man lodger has come to pay his rent," was her +first thought, and a gracious and stereotyped smile appeared on her +lips. The sweet illusion swiftly vanished, and her second thought was, +"He is drunk." This, also, did not hold its ground, and Mrs. Preedy then +practically summed up the case: "He has come to beg--a candle, a piece +of bread, a lump of soap--somethink he is in want of, and ain't got +money to pay for. And his excuse is that he is a foringer, or that all +the shops are shut. I don't believe he's got a penny in his pocket. You +don't deceive me, young man; I wasn't born yesterday!" + +Mrs. Preedy glanced towards the clock, and her glance was arrested on +its way by the weather indicator, with the old wooden farmer in full +view. Grotesque and improbable as were the fancies in which he had +played a tragic part, Mrs. Preedy could not resist the temptation of +ascertaining with her own eyes whether the young wooden woman, whom she +dreamt he had murdered, was in existence; and she rose and pushed the +old farmer into his bower. Out sailed the young woman, with her vacant +face and silly leer, as natural as life, and an impetus having been +given to the machinery, she and her male companion who had lived under +the same roof for years, and yet were absolute strangers to each other +(a striking illustration of English manners), swung in and out, in and +out, predicting fair weather foul weather, fair weather foul weather, +with the most reckless indifference of consequences. In truth, without +reference to the mendacious prophets, the weather gave every indication +of being presently very foul indeed. Thunder was in the air; the wind +was sobbing in the Square, and a few heavy drops of rain had fallen with +thuds upon roof and pavement. + +The hands of the clock pointed to twelve. + +"A nice time," thought Mrs. Preedy, "to come creeping downstairs into my +kitchen! I never did like them foringers! But I'd give anything to get +my 'ouse full--whether the lodgers paid or not for a week or two. Did +the young man expect to find me out, or asleep? Is there anything goin' +on atween 'im and Becky?" + +This dark suspicion recommended itself to her mind, and she readily gave +it admittance. It is to be feared that Mrs. Preedy's experiences had not +led her to a charitable opinion of maids-of-all-work. Becky, as Mrs. +Preedy called her servant, was a new girl, and had been in her service +for nearly a fortnight. Mrs. Preedy had been agreeably disappointed in +the girl, whom she did not expect to stay in the house a week. Since the +murder at No. 119, she had had eight different servants, not one of whom +stayed for longer than a few days--two had run away on the second day, +declaring that the ghost of the murdered man had appeared to them on the +first night, and that they wouldn't sleep another in such a place for +"untold gold." But Becky remained. + +"Is there anything goin' on atween 'im and Becky?" was Mrs. Preedy's +thought, as she looked at the clock. + +Richard Manx's eyes followed hers. + +"It is--a--what you call wrong," he muttered. + +"Very wrong," said Mrs. Preedy, aloud, under the impression that he +had unwittingly answered her thought, "and you ought to be ashamed of +yourself. You may do what you like in your own country, but I don't +allow such goings on in my 'ouse." + +"I was--a--thinking of your watch-clock," said Richard Manx. "It is +not--a--right. Five, ten, fifteen minutes are past, and I counted twelve +by the church bells. Midnight, that is it--twelve of the clock." + +"It's time for all decent people to be abed and asleep," remarked Mrs. +Preedy. + +"In bed--ah!--but in sleep--that is not the same thing. _You_ are not +so." + +"I've got my business to look after," retorted Mrs. Preedy. "I suppose +you 'aven't come to pay your rent?" + +"To pay? Ah, money! It is what you call it, tight. No, I have not come +money to pay." + +"And 'ow am I to pay _my_ rent, I should like to know, if you don't pay +yours? Can you tell me that, young man?" + +"I cannot--a--tell you. I am not a weezard." + +Although Mrs. Preedy had fully regained her courage she could not think +of a fitting rejoinder to this remark; so for a moment she held her +tongue. + +She had occupied her house for thirty years, living, until a short time +since, in tolerable comfort upon the difference between the rent she +received from her lodgers and the rent she paid to the agent of the +estate upon which Great Porter Square was situated. It was a great and +wealthy estate. Mrs. Preedy had never seen her aristocratic landlord, +who owned not only Great Porter Square but a hundred squares and streets +in the vicinity, in addition to lovely tracts of woodland and grand +mansions in the country. The income of this to-be-envied lord was +said to be a sovereign a minute. London, in whose cellars and garrets +hundreds of poor wretches yearly die of starvation, contains many such +princes. + +Richard Manx rented a room in the garret of Mrs. Preedy's house, for +which he had to pay three shillings a week. It was furnished, and the +rent could not be considered unreasonable. Certainly there was in the +room nothing superfluous. There were a truckle bed, with a few worn-out +bed clothes, a japanned chest of drawers, so ricketty that it had to be +propped up with bits of paper under two of its corners, a wreck of a +chair, an irregular piece of looking-glass hooked on to the wall, an old +fender before the tiniest fire-place that ever was seen, a bent bit of +iron for a poker, an almost bottomless coal scuttle, a very small trunk +containing Richard Manx's personal belongings, a ragged towel, and a +lame washstand with toilet service, every piece of which was chipped +and broken. In an auction the lot might have brought five shillings; +no broker in his senses would have bid higher for the rubbish. + +"If you 'aven't come to pay your rent," demanded Mrs. Preedy, "what +_'ave_ you come for?" + +Richard Manx craned his neck forward till his face was at least six +inches in advance of his body, and replied in a hoarse whisper: + +"I have--a--heard it once more again!" + +The effect of these words upon Mrs. Preedy was extraordinary. No sooner +had they escaped her lodger's lips than she started from her chair, +upsetting her glass of gin in her excitement, and, pulling him into the +room, shut the door behind him. Then she opened the door of the little +cupboard in which the servant slept, and called softly: + +"Becky!" and again, "Becky! Becky!" + +The girl must have been a sound sleeper, for even when her mistress +stepped to her bedside, and passed her hand over her face, she did not +move or speak. Returning to the kitchen, Mrs. Preedy closed the door of +the sleeping closet, and said to Richard Manx: + +"Look 'ere, young man, I don't want none of your nonsense, and, what's +more, I won't stand none!" And instantly took the heart out of her +defiance by crying, in an appealing tone: "Do you want to ruin me?" + +"What think you of me?" asked Richard Manx, in return. "No, I wish not +to ruin. But attend. You call your mind back to--a--one week from now. +It is Wednesday then--it is Wednesday now. I sit up in my garret in the +moon. I think--I smoke. Upon my ear strikes a sound. I hear scratching, +moving. Where? At my foot? No. In my room? No; I can nothing see. Where, +after that? In this house? Who can say? In the next to this? Ah! I +think of what is there done, three months that are past. My blood--that +is it--turn cold. I cannot, for a some time, move. You tell me, you, +that there is no--a--man, or--a--woman, or--a--child in the apartment +under-beneath where I sit. I am one myself _in_ that room--no wife, +no--a--child. I speak myself to--I answer myself to. No-- I am +not--a--right. Something there is that to me speaks. The wind, the +infernal--like a voice, it screams, and whistles, and what you call, +sobs. That is it. Like a child, or a woman, or a man for mercy calling! +Ah! it make my hair to rise. Listen you. It speaks once more again!" + +It was the wind in the streets that was moaning and sobbing; and during +the pause, a flash of lightning darted in, causing Richard Manx to start +back with the manner of a man upon whom divine vengeance had suddenly +fallen. It was followed, in a little while, by a furious bursting of +thunder, which shook the house. They listened until the echoes died +away, and even then the spirit of the sound remained in their ears with +ominous portent. + +"It is an angry night," said Richard Manx. "I will--a--continue what I +was saying. It is Wednesday of a week past. I in my garret sit and I +smoke. I hear the sound. It is what you call--a--secret. To myself I +think there is in that house next to this the blood of a man murdered. +Why shall there not be in this house, to-morrow that rises, the blood of +one other man murdered. And that man! Who shall it be? Myself--I. So I +rouse my courage up, and descend from my garret in the moon to the door +of the street. Creeping--is that so, your word?--creeping after me a +spirit comes--not for me to see, not for me to touch--but to hear with +my ears. All is dark. In the passage appear you, and ask me what? I +tell you, and you laugh--but not laugh well, it is like a cry--and +you say, it is--a fancy; it is nothing I hear. And you, with hands +so"--(clasping his hands together, somewhat tragically)--"beg of me not +to any speak of what I hear. I consent; I say, I will not of it speak." + +"And you 'aven't?" inquired Mrs. Preedy, anxiously. + +Richard Manx laid his hand on his breast. "On my honour, no; I speak +not of it. I think myself, 'The lady of the house is--a--right. I hear +only--a--fancy. I will not trouble. I will let to-morrow come.' It come, +and another to-morrow, and another, and still another. Nothing I hear. +But to-night--again! I am smoking myself in bed. Be not afraid--I shall +not put your house in a fire. It would not be bad. You are what they +call insured?" Mrs. Preedy nodded. "Listen you--comes the rain. Ah--and +the wind. God in heaven! that fire-flash!" + +It blinded them for a moment or two. Then, after the briefest +interval, pealed the thunder, with a crash which almost deafened them. +Instinctively, Richard Manx drew nearer to Mrs. Preedy, and she also +moved closer to him. At such times as this, when nature appears to +be warring against mortals, the human craving for companionship and +visible, palpable sympathy most strongly asserts itself. + +Either the breaking of the storm, or some other cause, had produced a +strange effect upon Becky, whom Mrs. Preedy supposed to be sleeping in +the little room adjoining the kitchen; for the girl in her night-dress +was kneeling on the ground, with her head close to the door, listening, +with her heart and soul in her ears, to the conversation between her +mistress and the young man lodger. It would have astonished Mrs. Preedy +considerably had she detected her maid-of-all-work in such a position. + +The thunder and lightning continued for quite five minutes, and then +they wandered into the country and awoke the echoes there, leaving the +rain behind them, which poured down like a deluge over the greater part +of the city. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +IN WHICH BECKY COMMENCES A LETTER TO A FRIEND IN THE COUNTRY. + + +On the following evening, Becky, the maid-of-all-work, having received +a reluctant permission from her mistress to go out until ten o'clock, +wrote and posted the following letter:-- + + * * * * * + +MY DARLING FRED,--I will now give you an account of all that has passed +since I saw your dear face. I could not write to you before to-day, for +the reason that I did not get an address until this morning, when I +received your dear letter. It was short, but I was overjoyed when the +man at the post office gave it to me. He looked at me suspiciously, +having a doubt whether I was the person I represented myself to be. I +dare say this remark makes you wonder a little; but you would wonder +more if you had seen me when I asked for your letter. Now, be patient, +and you will soon learn why. + +Patient! Have you not been patient? What other man in the world would +have borne what you have borne with such fortitude and courage? +None--no, not one! But it is for my sake as well as your own, that, +instead of taking your revenge upon the wretches who have persecuted +you, you schooled yourself to the endurance of their cruelty, in the +hope that the day would come when they would be compelled to set you +free. And it came--and you are free! O, my dear! I pray day and night +that all will come right in the end. + +It seems as if this were going to be a long, long letter, but I cannot +help it. I must wander on in my own way, and I have got more than three +hours, all to myself. + +What have I been doing since you went away? That is what you are asking +yourself? Prepare for wonders. I would give you ten thousand guesses, +and you would not come near the truth. + +You shall be told without guessing. I found it very dull in the lodging +you took for me; the days dragged on _so_ slowly, and I thought the +nights would never end. + +What did I want? Something to do. + +Now, with this in my mind, an inspiration fell upon me one night, and +the moment it did so I could not help thinking myself a selfish, idle +little woman for not having thought of it before. That sounds rather +confused, but you will understand it. + +So the very next morning I set about it. How, do you think? And about +what? + +I went to a poor little shop in a lane in Chelsea, where they sell +second-hand clothes, and I bought two common frocks, and some common +petticoats, and everything else--boots, cloak, hat--such a hat!--and a +bunch of false hair. The clothes were very cheap. I do not know how the +woman could have sold them for the money except that the poor creatures +who sold them to _her_ must have been so near starvation's door that +they were compelled to part with them at any price. + +I took them home to my lodgings, and dressed myself in them, put on +my false hair, and smudged my face. I looked exactly like the part I +intended to play--a servant-of-all-work, ready to go on the stage. + +You are burning to know in what theatre I intended to play the part. I +will tell you. Don't start. Great Porter Square. + +Of all places in the world (I hear you say) the one place I should wish +my little woman to avoid. Your little woman thought differently--thinks +differently. + +This is what I said to myself: Here is my darling working day and night +to get at the heart of a great mystery in which he is involved. He +endures dreadful hardships, suffers imprisonment and cruel indignities, +and travels hundreds and hundreds of miles, in his endeavour to unravel +the mystery which affects his peace and mine--his future and mine--his +honour and mine! And here am I, with nothing to do, living close to the +very spot where the fearful crime was committed, sitting down in wicked +idleness, without making the slightest attempt to assist the man for +whom I would cheerfully die, but for whom I would much more cheerfully +live. Why should I not go and live in Great Porter Square, assuming such +a disguise as would enable me to hear everything that was going on--all +the tittle-tattle--all the thousand little things, and words, and +circumstances which have never been brought to light--and which might +lead to a clue which would help the man I would much more cheerfully +live for than die for? + +There was no impropriety in what I determined to do, and in what I have +done. I must tell you that there is in me a more determined, earnest +spirit than you ever gave me credit for. Now that I am actively engaged +in this adventure, I know that I am brave and strong and cunning, and a +little bird whispers to me that I shall discover something--God alone +knows what--which will be of importance to you. + +Do you think I shall be debarred by fear of ghosts? I am not frightened +of ghosts. + +Now you know how it is I arrived at my resolution. Do not blame me for +it, and do not write to me to give it up. I do not think I could, even +if you commanded me. + +I did not make a move until night came. Fortunately, it was a dark +night. I watched my opportunity, and when nobody was on the stairs, I +glided down in my disguise, slipped open the street door, and vanished +from the neighbourhood. + +I had never been in Great Porter Square, but it seemed to me as if I +_must_ know where it was, and when I thought I was near the Square I +went into a greengrocer's shop and inquired. It was quite close, the +woman said, just round the corner to the left. + +The Square, my dear, as you know, is a very dismal-looking place. There +are very few gas lamps in it, and the inclosure in the centre, which +they call a garden, containing a few melancholy trees and shrubs, does +not add to its attractiveness. When I came to 119, I crossed the road +and looked up at the windows. They were quite dark, and there was a bill +in one, "To Let." It had a very gloomy appearance, but the other houses +were little better off in that respect. There was not one which did +not seem to indicate that some person was lying dead in it, and that +a funeral was going to take place to-morrow. + +There were a great many rooms to let in Great Porter Square, especially +in the houses near to No. 119. No. 118 appeared to be almost quite +empty, for, except in a room at the very top of the house, and in the +basement, there was not a light to be seen. I did not wonder at it. + +Well, my dear, my walk round the Square did not help me much, so what +did I do but walk back to the greengrocer's shop. You know the sort of +shop. The people sell coals, wood, gingerbeer, and lemonade, the day +before yesterday's bunches of flowers, and the day before yesterday's +cabbages and vegetables. + +"Didn't you find it?" asked the woman. + +"O, yes," I replied, "but I didn't find what I was looking for. I heard +that a servant was wanted in one of the houses, and I have forgotten the +number." + +"There's a house in the Square," said the woman, "where they want a +servant bad, but they can't get one to stop." + +"What's the number?" I asked. + +"No. 118," the woman answered. "Next to--but perhaps you don't know." + +"Don't know what?" I inquired. + +"That it's next door to the house where a murder was committed," she +said. + +"What is that to me?" I said. "_I_ didn't do it." + +The woman looked at me admiringly. "Well," she said, "you've got a +nerve! And you don't look it, neither. You look delicate." + +"Don't you go by looks," I said, "I'm stronger than you think." + +Then I thanked her, and went to No. 118 Great Porter Square, and knocked +at the door. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + IN WHICH BECKY CONTINUES HER LETTER AND RELATES HOW SHE OBTAINED THE + SITUATION AT NO. 118. + + +I had to wait a little while before my knock was answered, and then I +heard, in a woman's voice, + +"Who's there?" + +"A girl," I replied. "I heard you were in want of one." + +"Are you alone?" + +"Yes." + +The street-door was thrown suddenly open, and a woman appeared on the +doorstep, with a lighted candle in her hand, which the wind instantly +blew out. The woman was Mrs. Preedy, lodging-house keeper, my present +mistress. She tried to see my face, but the night was too dark. + +"Wait a minute," she said; "stand where you are." + +Upon my word, my dear, I believe she was afraid of poor little me. + +She retreated into the passage, and re-lit the candle. Shading and +protecting it with her hand, she bade me walk in, but not to shut the +street-door. I obeyed her, and she examined me, seeming to measure +whether she was a match for me in strength. + +"How did you know I wanted a servant?" she asked. + +"They told me at the greengrocer's round the corner," I said. + +"Where did you live last?" + +I replied promptly, "I have never been in service. But I am sure I +should suit you. I am strong and willing, and I don't mind what I do +so long as the place is comfortable." + +"It's comfortable enough," she said. "Are you a London girl?" + +"No, I come from the country." + +"What made you leave the country?" + +I cast down my eyes. "I had a quarrel with my young man." + +Just reflect for a moment, my dear, upon my boldness! + +"It ain't the thing to take a girl without a character," said Mrs. +Preedy. + +Upon this I delivered a master-stroke. + +"You can consider it in the wages," I said. + +It had an effect upon the woman. "How much do you expect?" she asked. + +"I'm not particular," I answered; "all I want is a comfortable home." + +There were plenty more questions and answers. Mrs. Preedy must have been +in a desperate plight for a domestic, or I should have stood a poor +chance of being engaged; but engaged I was at £8 a year, "all found," +and I commenced my new life at once by following my mistress into +the kitchen, and washing up the plates and dishes, and cleaning the +candlesticks. Mrs. Preedy's eye was on me. + +"It's easy to see," she said, "that you've never been in service before. +But I dare say you'll do. Mind! I make my girls pay for all they +break!" + +I can't help laughing when I think of her words. Reckoning up the things +I have already let slip--(they _will_ do it; I can't prevent them; +really I believe they are alive)--I have arrived at the conclusion +that the whole of my first month's wages will be presented to me in +broken crockery. My cheerfulness over my misfortunes is a source of +considerable astonishment to my mistress. + +When I finished washing up the things, I was sent out to "The Green +Dragon" for the supper beer, and upon my return, took possession of +my very small bedroom, and, unpacking my bundle of clothes (which had +already been untied and examined by Mrs. Preedy while I was fetching the +supper beer--artful woman!) I went to bed. Mrs. Preedy had no need to +tell me to be up early in the morning. I was awake all night, but I was +not unhappy, for I thought of you and of the likelihood that I might be +able to help you. + +My name, my dear, is Becky. + +So behold me fairly launched on my adventure. And let me entreat of +you, once and for all, not to distress yourself about me. I am very +comfortable, and as the house is almost empty there is not much to do. +It is astonishing how easily we accustom ourselves to circumstances. + +Mrs. Preedy had only one lodger when I entered her service--a bedridden +old lady, Mrs. Bailey, who has not left her bed for more than three +years. She lives on the first floor in a back room, and is the widow +of a soldier who bequeathed to her half-a-dozen medals, and a small +annuity, upon which she just manages to live. This is what the old lady +herself declares; she has "barely enough--barely enough; not a penny to +spare!" But Mrs. Preedy is firm in the belief--popularly shared by every +householder in Great Porter Square--that the old lady is very rich, and +has a hoard of gold hidden in her apartment, the exact locality being +the mattress upon which she lies. As she never leaves her bed, the +demonstration of this suspicion is not practicable without violence to +the old lady's bones and feelings. She pays Mrs. Preedy twelve shillings +a week for her room and two meals a day, and she occasionally takes a +fancy to a little delicacy, which may cost her about eighteenpence more +a week, so it is not difficult to calculate the amount of the annuity. + +The days of Mrs. Bailey's existence should pass wearily enough in all +conscience, but she appears to enjoy herself, her chief source of +amusement being two birds, a linnet which never sings a note, and a +bullfinch that looks as old as Methuselah. Their cages hang on the wall +at the foot of the old lady's bed. They never catch a glimpse of the +sun, and their movements have scarcely in them the brisk movement of +feathered things. Their hops are languid, and the bullfinch mopes +dreadfully. + +The old lady was an object of interest to me at once. One by one, +shortly after the murder next door was committed, Mrs. Preedy's lodgers +left her. Only Mrs. Bailey remained, the apparent reason being that +she was helpless. She appears to have but one friend in the world (not +taking her birds into account), a sister older than herself, who comes +to spend an afternoon with her once in every month, who is very deaf, +almost blind, and who cannot walk without the assistance of a thick +stick. The old creature, whose name I do not know, takes snuff, and +inspires me with a fear that she will one day suddenly fall all to +pieces--in the way that I once saw harlequin in a pantomime do. I have +no hope that, if such a dreadful thing happens, she will have a clown at +her elbow, as the harlequin had, who in the most marvellous manner put +the pieces together and brought them to life again. To see these two old +ladies, as I saw them a few days ago, with the languid linnet and the +moping bullfinch, is a sight not easy to forget. + +Although I have written such a long letter, I have not told you half +I intended. To-morrow I will send you another, which I will write +to-night, while Mrs. Preedy is asleep. If you think I have nothing to +say which has the slightest bearing upon the murder, you are mistaken; +but you must restrain your impatience till to-morrow. + +My darling, I write in a light vein, I know, but my feeling is deep and +earnest. I want to cheer you, if I can, and win a smile from you. Before +we met in Leicester Square, on the day you were released, I was serious +enough, and in deep trouble; but the moment we were together again, hope +entered my heart, and, with that bright angel, a little of the gaiety of +spirits in which you used to take delight. Hope is with me now. Receive +it from me, if you are despondent. I kiss it into this letter, and send +you my heart with it. No--how can I do that, when you have my heart +already! And if, with that in your possession, you do not now and then +see a ray of light in the midst of your anxieties, I shall call you +ungrateful. Adieu, my love for a few hours. + + For ever and ever your own, + BECKY. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + IN WHICH BECKY WRITES A SECOND LETTER TO HER FRIEND IN THE COUNTRY, + AND GIVES A WOMAN'S REASON FOR NOT LIKING RICHARD MANX. + + +MY OWN DARLING,--It is nearly two o'clock in the morning. Everything is +quiet in the house, and I can write in my little cupboard of a bedroom, +the door of which leads into the kitchen, without fear of being +disturbed. + +Where did I leave off in my letter? Oh, about our old lady lodger, Mrs. +Bailey, and her poor old sister. + +She was the only lodger in the house when I first came, and I made +myself so agreeable to the old lady that in a few days she would not be +satisfied unless I waited upon her entirely. I heard her say to Mrs. +Preedy, as I was in the passage outside the door--quite by accident, of +course; I had my broom in my hand, you may be sure--I heard her say-- + +"Why didn't you send Becky up? I like Becky--I like Becky!" + +I have no doubt, if she had had a parrot in the room, that it would have +learned to say-- + +"I like Becky!--I like Becky!" + +But I took no notice until Mrs. Preedy said to me-- + +"Becky, Mrs. Bailey's taken quite a fancy to you." + +"I'm glad to hear it, mum," I replied. + +You should hear me say "mum." I have made quite a study of the word. + +From that time I have waited upon Mrs. Bailey pretty regularly. Mrs. +Preedy has not failed to impress upon me, if anything happens to the old +lady, if she is "took ill" (she has an idea that the old lady will "go +off sudden") while I am in her room, that I am to run down for her +"immediate." + +"I should like to do what is proper by the old lady," said Mrs. Preedy. + +But my idea is that she wants to be the first to see what treasure is +concealed in the old lady's mattrass. + +One day I ventured to speak to the old lady about the murder in No. 119, +and I elicited from her that two detectives had paid her a visit, to +ascertain whether she had heard anything from the next house on the +night the dreadful deed was committed. + +"They didn't get anything out of me, Becky," said the old lady; "I +didn't hear anything, Becky--eh? I told them as much as I +heard--nothing--eh, Becky?" + +There was something odd in the old lady's manner, and I felt convinced +she knew more than she said. The old lady is spasmodic, and speaks very +slowly, gasping at each word, with a long pause between. + +"Of course," I said, with a knowing look, "you didn't hear anything, so +you couldn't tell them anything! I should have done just the same." + +"Would you, Becky? Would you--eh?" + +"Certainly," I replied. "I wouldn't run the chance of being taken from +my comfortable bed to appear in a police court, and catch my death of +cold, and have everybody staring and pointing at me." + +"You're a clever girl, Becky," said Mrs. Bailey, "a clever girl--eh? +And I'm a clever old woman--eh? Very good--very good! Catch my death of +cold, indeed! So I should--eh?" Then suddenly, "Becky, can you keep a +secret--eh?" + +"That you told me!" I said. "Nothing could tear it from me." + +"I did hear something, Becky." + +"Did you?" I asked, with a smile which was intended to invite complete +confidence. + +"Yes, Becky." + +"What was it?" + +"Two voices--as if there was a quarrel going on--a quarrel, Becky, eh?" + +"Ah!" said I, "it is a good job you kept it to yourself. The detectives, +and the magistrates, and the lawyers would have put you to no end of +trouble. Were they men's voices?" + +"Yes, men's voices." + +"It was put in the papers," I said, "that there was a scream. Mrs. +Preedy, downstairs, heard that, but she could not say whether it was +from a man or a woman." + +"I heard it, too, Becky. It was a man--I could swear to it. Why, if you +lie on this bed, with your head to the wall, and it's quiet as it was +then, you can hear almost everything that goes on in the next house. Try +it, Becky." + +I lay down beside her, and although no sound at that time came to +my ears, it was easy to believe that she was not labouring under a +delusion. + +"Could you hear what the men said to each other?" I asked. + +"Not when they spoke low," she replied, "only when they raised their +voices, and I wasn't awake all the time. Somebody was playing on the +piano, now and then--playing softly--and between whiles there was talk +going on. One said, 'You won't, won't you?' And the other said, 'No--not +if I die for it!' Then there was the sound of a blow--O, Becky! it made +me tremble all over. And then came the scream that Mrs. Preedy heard. +And almost directly afterwards, the piano played that loud that I +believe you could have heard it in the next street. The music went on +for a long time, and then everything was quiet. That was all." + +"Did neither of the men speak after that?" I asked. + +"No, or if they did, it was so low that it didn't reach me." + +My dear, to hear this woman, who is very, very old, and quite close +to death's door, relate the dreadful story, with scarcely a trace of +feeling in her voice, and with certainly no compassion, would have +shocked you--as it did me; but I suppressed my emotion. + +There is something of still greater importance to be told before I bring +the story of my adventure to the present day. I am on the track of a +mystery which appears to me to be in some strange way connected with the +crime. Heaven only knows where it will lead me, but I shall follow it up +without flinching, whatever the consequences may be. + +A week after I entered Mrs. Preedy's service she said to me; + +"Becky, we've got another lodger." + +"Goodness be praised," I cried. "The sight of so many empty rooms in the +house is dreadful. And such a loss to you!" + +"You may well say that Becky," said Mrs. Preedy, with a woeful sigh; +"it's hard to say what things will come to if they go on much longer +like this." + +"I hope it's more than _one_ lodger," I observed; "I hope it's a +family." + +"No, Becky," she replied, "it's only one--a man; he's taken the attic +at three shillings a week, and between you and me and the post, I shall +reckon myself lucky if I get it. I can't say I like the looks of him, +but I can't afford to be too nice." + +When I saw the man, who gives himself out as Richard Manx, I liked the +looks of him as little as my mistress. He is dark-complexioned, and has +long black hair; there is a singular and most unnatural look in his +eyes--they are cat's eyes, and shift from side to side stealthily--not +to be trusted, not for a moment to be trusted! He has black whiskers and +a black moustache; and he has large, flat feet. The moment I saw him he +inspired me with an instinctive repugnance towards him; I regarded him +with an aversion which I did not trouble myself to examine and justify. +I believe in first impressions. + +So strong was my feeling that I said to Mrs. Preedy I hoped I should not +have to wait upon him. + +"He does not require waiting upon," said Mrs. Preedy, "he has taken the +garret, without attendance. He says that he will not even trouble us to +make his bed or sweep out his room." + +"So much the better," thought I, and I did my best not to meet him. I +must do him the justice to say that he appeared as anxious to avoid me +as I was to avoid him; and for a fortnight we did not exchange a word. + +And now, my dear, prepare for an inconsistency, and call me a bundle of +contradictions. + +I have made up my mind no longer to avoid Richard Manx; I have made up +my mind to worm myself, if I can, in his confidence; I have made up my +mind not to lose sight of him, unless, indeed, he suddenly disappears +from the house and the neighbourhood, and so puts it out of my power to +watch his movements. + +"Why?" I hear you ask. "Have you discovered that your first impressions +are wrong, and, having done an injustice to an unfortunate man, are you +anxious to atone for it?" Not a bit of it! I am more than ever confirmed +in my prejudices with regard to Richard Manx. I shall watch his +movements, and no longer avoid him--not for his sake--for yours, for +mine! An enigma, you say. Very well. Wait! + +I am tired; my fingers are cramped, and my head aches a little; I must +get two or three hours' rest, or I shall be fit for nothing to-morrow. + +Good night, dear love. Heaven shield you and guard you, and help you. + +Yours, in good and bad fortune, with steadfast love, + + BECKY. + +[Decoration] + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + IN WHICH BECKY, CONTINUING HER LETTER, RELATES HER IMPRESSIONS OF + MRS. PREEDY'S YOUNG MAN LODGER. + + +MY OWN DEAR FRED,--Once more I am in my little cupboard of a bedroom, +writing to you. Again it is past twelve o'clock, and Mrs. Preedy is +asleep. + +I will now tell you why I have altered my mind with regard to Richard +Manx, and why I have determined to watch his movements. The seal to this +resolution was fixed the night before last. + +Mrs. Preedy was sitting up, as usual, drinking her regular allowance of +gin and water. I was in my bedroom, supposed to be asleep, but really +very wide awake. Peeping through a chink in my bedroom door, I saw Mrs. +Preedy thus engaged, and engaged also in reading an account of the +police-court proceedings in which you were so cruelly implicated. There +was nothing interesting in this picture of Mrs. Preedy, and I crept into +bed again. I was dozing off, when I was roused by the sound of Mrs. +Preedy leaving the kitchen, and going up-stairs to the street-door, +which she opened. I ventured out into the passage, and listened. She was +talking to a policeman. Presently she came down-stairs and mixed a glass +of gin and water, which she took up to him. Then after a little further +chat, she came down again, and resumed her melancholy occupation. After +that, I fell asleep. + +Changes have taken place in me, my dear. Once I was nervous; now I am +bold. Once I could not sleep without a light in my room; now I can sleep +in the dark. Once I was a sound sleeper, and was not easily awakened; +now the slightest sound arouses me. The dropping of a pin would be +almost sufficient to cause me to start up in bed. + +On the occasion I refer to, it was something more than the dropping of +a pin that aroused me. It was the sound of voices in the kitchen--Mrs. +Preedy's voice and the voice of a man. What man? I peeped through the +chink. It was Richard Manx, our new lodger. + +He was standing on the threshold of the kitchen door; from where I knelt +I could not obtain a good view of his face, but I saw Mrs. Preedy's, and +it seemed to me as if she had received a fright. + +Richard Manx, in reply to an observation made by Mrs. Preedy, said her +clock on the mantelpiece was wrong, and that he had heard twelve o'clock +strike a quarter of an hour ago. Mrs. Preedy asked him if he had come to +pay his rent. No, he said, he had not come to pay his rent. Then Mrs. +Preedy very naturally inquired what he _had_ come for, and Richard Manx, +in a voice resembling that of a raven with a bad cold, said, + +"I have--a--heard it once more again!" + +My dear, the moment he uttered these strange words, Mrs. Preedy rushed +at him, pulled him into the kitchen, and then flew to my bedroom door. +I was in bed before she got there, and when she opened it and called my +name, I was, of course, fast asleep. She made sure of this by coming +into my little cupboard, and passing her hand over my face. My heart +beat quickly, but she herself was too agitated to notice it. When she +left my room, I thought it prudent to remain in bed for awhile, so as to +avoid the risk of discovery. My mind was in a whirl. Richard Manx had +heard _it_ once more again! What had he heard? + +I rose quietly, and listened. Richard Manx was speaking of a sound in +the empty house next door, No. 119. He had heard it twice--a week ago, +and again on this night. He said that he was in the habit of smoking in +bed, and asked if Mrs. Preedy was insured. He was interrupted by the +breaking of a storm, which appeared to frighten them both very much. I +will not attempt to repeat, word for word, all that passed between them. +Its substance is now what I am going to relate. + +Eight nights ago, Richard Manx, sitting in his attic, was startled (so +he says) by the sound of a tapping or scratching in the house next +door, in which the murder was committed. Being, according to his +own declaration, of a nervous nature, he left his attic, and crept +downstairs. In the passage below he met Mrs. Preedy, and related to her +what he had heard. She endeavoured to persuade him that his fancy had +been playing him tricks. + +"How is it possible," she asked him, "that you could have heard any +sound in the next house when there's nobody there?" + +A convincing question, my dear, which carries its own convincing answer. + +Richard Manx wavers, and promises her not to speak to the neighbours of +his distressing impression. He says he will wait "till it comes again." +It comes again on this night the events of which I am describing, and in +great fear (which may or may not be real) he creeps downstairs to Mrs. +Preedy to inform her of it. He says the noise may not be made by a +mortal; it may be made by a spirit. So much the worse. A man or a woman +one can meet and hold, and ask questions of, but a spirit!----the very +idea is enough to make one's hair stand on end. + +It did not make my hair stand on end, nor did Richard Manx's suggestion +frighten me in the least. It excited me almost to fever heat, but +there was no fear in my excitement. Expectation, hope, painful +curiosity--these were the feelings which animated me. + +What if Richard Manx were, for some reason of his own, inventing this +story of strange noises in an empty house, the boards of which are +stained with the blood of a murdered man? The idea did not dawn upon me; +it flashed upon me in a certain expression which dwelt upon Richard +Manx's face while Mrs. Preedy's back, for a moment, was turned to him. + +When they were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table, the man +was timid, confiding, humble; but when Mrs. Preedy turned towards the +dresser for the sugar basin, there stole into his face the expression +I have referred to. What did it denote? Cunning, ferocity, triumph, +duplicity. It was but for a moment; upon Mrs. Preedy confronting him +again, he relapsed into humbleness and timidity. + +What was the meaning of this sudden change? That the man was playing a +part? Clearly. Then behind his systematic acting was hidden a motive. +What motive? + +He had accepted Mrs. Preedy's invitation to a glass of gin and water, +and had asked for sugar. It was while she was getting the sugar that he +had allowed the mask to slip from his false face. + +"If it gets known," she said, "I'm a ruined woman!" + +"Ah," said Richard Manx, "I comprehend what you mean by ruined. A house +with a shadow--a spirit ghost in it, would be--a--horrible! Listen you. +This house is likewise." Mrs. Preedy shuddered. "Well," he continued, +"I will say--a--nothing." He placed his hand on his heart and leered +at her. "On my honour. But be you positive--what I have heard is +not--a--fancy. It is veritable." + +He said a great deal more to the same effect, and I never saw a woman +more completely prostrated. + +Richard Manx speaks imperfect English, and I cannot make up my mind +whether he is a Frenchman, or a German, or an Italian, or an Impostor. +I am not only suspicious of the man, I am suspicious of his broken +English. + +What I wanted now to ascertain was whether any person had heard the +tapping or the scratching in No. 119, and the person I fixed upon to +settle this point was Mrs. Bailey, our old lady lodger on the first +floor. If anything was going on in the next house it could scarcely have +escaped her ears. + +Yesterday morning while I was tidying up her room, I broached the +subject. + +"I wonder," I said, "whether the next house will ever be let." + +"_I_ wouldn't take it," said Mrs. Bailey, "if they offered it to me for +nothing a-year--eh?" + +"It wouldn't be a pleasant place to live in certainly," I remarked. "I +should be afraid of ghosts." + +"Do you believe in them, eh, Becky?" + +"I've never seen one," I replied, "but I can't help believing in them--a +little. There's one comfort--they don't trouble people who haven't +wronged them. So _we're_ all right." + +"Yes, Becky, yes--they wouldn't come through brick walls to scare a poor +old woman, eh?" + +"No," I said, "and I've never read of a ghost speaking or making a noise +of any kind. Have you?" + +"Not that I can remember," replied the old lady. + +"Mrs. Bailey," I said, "since the night of the murder you have not heard +anything going on next door?" + +"Not a sound, Becky. It's been as still as a mouse." + +"As a mouse," I repeated; "ah, but mice scratch at walls sometimes." + +"So they do; but there can't be any mice next door, or I should have +heard them. Nothing for them to eat, Becky--eh? Mice can't eat +ghosts--eh?" + +"No, indeed," I said. "I hope you are sleeping well, Mrs. Bailey." + +"No, I am not, Becky. As night comes on I get a pain in my side, and it +keeps me awake for hours." + +"What a shame!" I exclaimed. "I'll come and rub it for you, if you like, +when my work's done. Were you awake last night, Mrs. Bailey?" + +"I didn't close my eyes till past two this morning; too bad, eh, Becky?" + +"Indeed it is. I hope you were not disturbed." + +"Only my side, Becky; nothing else." + +This conversation convinced me that Richard Manx had not heard any such +sound as he stated. What was his purpose in endeavouring to deceive Mrs. +Preedy? + +The same day I was sent out to the greengrocer's, and the woman said to +me that she supposed I was not going to stop much longer in my place. + +"Why not?" I asked. + +"There isn't one girl in a thousand," said the woman, "as had live +willingly in a haunted house. Why, Becky, it's the talk of the +neighbourhood!" + +"All I can say is," I replied, "that I have heard nothing of it, and I +don't think Mrs. Preedy has, either." + +"Ah," remarked the woman, "they say you must go abroad if you want to +hear any news about yourself." + +My dear, the woman in the greengrocer's shop spoke the truth. Before the +day was out, it was the talk of the neighbourhood, that both houses, +Nos. 118 and 119 Great Porter Square, were haunted. When I went out +last evening to write my first letter to you, I was told of it by +half-a-dozen people, and the policeman himself (they are all friends +of mine) made inquiries as to the time and shapes in which the ghostly +visitants presented themselves. And to-day I have observed more than a +dozen strangers stop before our house and point up to it, shaking their +heads mysteriously. + +Mrs. Preedy opened the subject to me this evening. + +"Becky," she said, "there is no end to the wickedness of people." + +"That there isn't, mum," I replied, sympathetically. + +"Why, Becky," she exclaimed, "have _you_ heard what they are saying +about the house?" + +"O, yes," I said, "everybody says its haunted." + +"Do _you_ believe it, Becky?" + +"Not me, mum!" (Observe my grammar, my dear.) "Not me! Who should know +better than those that live in a house whether it's haunted or not?" + +"That's it, Becky," cried Mrs. Preedy, excitedly; "that's it. Who should +know better than us? And I'm sure _I've_ never seen anything nor heard +anything. Nor you either, Becky." + +"Nor me, neither," I replied. "But the worst of it is, mum, mud sticks. +Give a dog a bad name, and you may as well hang him at once." + +Now, who spread this rumour about our house being haunted? Somebody, for +sure, who has a motive in giving the place a bad reputation. There is +never smoke without a fire. Shall I tell you who is the cause of all +this? Richard Manx. + +What leads me to this conclusion? you ask. Instinct, my dear. It is an +important quality in animals; why not in human beings? What possible +motive _can_ Richard Manx have in spreading such a report? you ask next. +A just Heaven only knows, my dear. But I will find out his motive, as I +am a living and loving woman. + +You are not acquainted with Richard Manx, you may say. Nor am I. But +is it certain that it is his true name? You are not the only person in +the world who has concealed his true name. You concealed yours for an +innocent reason. Richard Manx may conceal his for a guilty one. Then +think of me, known simply as Becky. Why, my dearest, the world is a +perfect medley! Shall I tell you something else about him? My dear, he +paints. I hear you, in your unsophisticated innocence, exclaim, "O, he +is an artist!" He is, in one sense. His canvass is the human skin. He +paints his face. + +What will you ask now? Of course, your question will be, "How on earth +do you know that he paints his face?" My dear, here I am your superior. +Trust a woman to know a natural from an artificial colour. These few +last questions trouble your soul. "Does _she_ paint, then?" you mutter. +"No, my dear," I answer, "my complexion _is my own_!" + +Twice have I seen Richard Manx to-day, and I have not avoided him. I +looked at him. He looked at me. + +"You are Becky," he said; and if ever a foreigner spoke like an +Englishman, Richard Manx did when he said, "You are Becky." + +"Yes, if you please, sir," I replied, coyly. + +"You are a--what you call maid-of-all work here," he said. + +Maid-of-all-work! What do real, genuine foreigners know of English +maids-of-all-work? The very use of the term was, in my judgment, an +argument against him. + +"Yes," I replied. + +"And a very pretty maid-of-all-work," he said, with a smile. + +"There's missus calling!" I cried, and I ran downstairs. + +In that short interview I had convinced myself that he painted, and I +had made up my mind that he wore a wig. Think of that, my dear! Our +innocent, timid, humble young man lodger, with a false head of hair! I +blush. + +The meaning of all this is, that Richard Manx is no chance lodger. +He came here designedly. He has not paid his rent. It is part of his +design. He would be more likely to attract attention as a man with +plenty of money than as a man with none. There are so many poor people +in the world, and they are comparatively so unimportant? He has spread +a rumour that the house he lodges in and the next house are haunted. It +is part of his design. To bring the houses into disrepute will cause +people to avoid them, will lessen the chance of their being occupied. +The better opportunity for him to carry out, without being observed, any +scheme he may have in his false and wicked mind. + +I have but one thing more to relate, and that will bring the history of +your adventurous little woman up to the present moment of writing. It is +an important incident, and has a direct bearing upon all that has gone +before. At nine o'clock to-night the street door was opened and closed. +My mistress and I were in the kitchen. + +"It is Mr. Manx," said Mrs. Preedy. + +"I didn't know he had a latch key," I observed. + +"I gave him one to-day," said Mrs. Preedy. "He is looking for a +situation, poor young man, and asked me for a latch key, as he might +have to keep out late at night, and didn't like to disturb me." + +"Very considerate of him," I said. "What kind of situation is he after? +Is he anything at all?" + +"He is a professor of languages, Becky, and a musician besides." + +"What kind of musician?" I asked, scornfully. "A trombone player?" + +"I can't say, Becky." + +"Does he play the cornet, or the fiddle," I continued, with a certain +recklessness which overcame me for a few moments, "or the harp, or the +flute, or the piano?" And as I said "or the piano?" a dish I was wiping +slipped clean out of my hands, and was broken to pieces. + +"What a careless girl you are, Becky!" cried my mistress. "That makes +the third you have broken since you've been here." + +"Never mind," I said, "I have had a legacy left me." + +She stared at me, and cried "A legacy!" And, upon my word, my dear, +until she repeated the words, I scarcely knew what it was I _had_ said. +However, I was committed to it now, and was bound to proceed. + +"Yes; a legacy. That is what I really went about last night." + +The information so staggered her that her voice became quite +deferential. + +"Is it much, Becky?" + +"A clear three hundred pounds," I replied, "and perhaps a little more. +I shall know for a certainty in a week or two." + +"You'll be giving me notice presently, I daresay, Becky, now you've +come into money." + +"Not unless you want to get rid of me," I replied. + +"Becky," said Mrs. Preedy, graciously, "I am very satisfied with you. +You can remain with me as long as you like, and when we part I hope we +shall part friends." + +"I hope so too, mum; and I hope you'll think none the worse of me +because I've been so fortunate. I should like to hear of _your_ having +such a slice of luck." + +"Thank you, Becky," said my mistress, meekly, "but _I_ wasn't born with +a silver spoon in my mouth." + +"Ah," said I, wisely, "it isn't always the most deserving as gets the +best rewarded." + +Do you know, my dear, so strong is the force of example and association, +that I sometimes catch myself speaking exactly as if I had been born in +that station of life which I am at present occupying in Mrs. Preedy's +service. + +Here a bell rang. "That's Mrs. Bailey's bell," I said; "shall I go up to +her, or will you?" + +"You go, Becky," said Mrs. Preedy; "she likes you best." + +Up I went, and found Mrs. Bailey writhing in bed; she was evidently in +pain. + +"My side, Becky, my side!" moaned the old creature. "You promised to rub +it for me?" + +"Wait a minute," I said, "I'll go and fetch some liniment." + +I ran downstairs, and took from my little bedroom a bottle of liniment +which I had bought at the chemist's in expectation of such an emergency +as this. Then I rubbed the old lady's side, and soon afforded her +relief. + +"What a soft hand you've got!" she said, "It's almost like a lady's +hand." + +I sighed. "I haven't been a common servant all my life," I said. "But +never mind me. Do you feel easier?" + +"I am another woman, dear," she replied. "O dear, O dear!" + +And the old creature began to cry, and moan, and shake. I pitied her +most truly at that moment. + +"What are you crying for?" I asked. + +"O dear, O dear!" she repeated. "I had a daughter once, who might have +looked after me in my old days. My Lizzie! my Lizzie!" She continued to +weep in the most distressing manner, calling upon her Lizzie in touching +tones. I asked tenderly if her daughter was dead, and her reply was-- + +"God only knows!" + +And then she related to me, often stopping to sob and moan in grief, a +sad, sad story of a girl who had left her home, and had almost broken +her parents' hearts. I cannot stop now to tell you the story as this +lonely woman told it to me, for my fingers are beginning to pain me +with the strain of this long letter, and I have still something more to +say which more nearly concerns ourselves. + +Bear in mind that from the time Richard Manx had entered the house, no +other persons had entered or left it. Had the street door been opened I +should for a certainty have remarked it. + +Mrs. Bailey had told the whole of the sad story of her daughter's shame +and desertion, and was lying in tears on her bed. I was sitting by her +side, animated by genuine sympathy for the lonely old lady. Suddenly an +expression of alarm appeared on her face, which gradually turned quite +white. + +"Becky!" she cried. + +I leant over her, my heart beating quick, for she had startled me. I +feared that her last hour had arrived. I was mistaken. It was fear of +another kind which had aroused her from the contemplation of her special +sorrow. + +"Don't you hear?" she asked, presently. + +"What?" I exclaimed, following her looks and words in an agony of +expectation. + +"The next house," she whispered, "where the man was murdered! The empty +house! Something is moving there!" + +I threw myself quickly on the bed, and lay by the old lady's side. + +"There, Becky! Do you hear it now?" + +"Hush," I whispered. "Don't speak or stir! Let us be sure." + +It was not possible that both of us could be dreaming the same dream +at the same moment. There _was_ a sound as of some person moving in +No. 119. + +"Answer me in a whisper," I said, with my mouth close to Mrs. Bailey's +ear. "The room in which the murder was committed is on a level with +this?" + +"Yes," she replied, in a whisper, as I had directed. + +"Do you think the sounds are in that room?" + +"I am sure of it, Becky." + +I lay still for about the space of a another minute. Then I rose from +the bed. + +"What are you going to do, Becky?" asked Mrs. Bailey; "Don't leave me!" + +"I must," I said, firmly. "For about five minutes. I will come back. +I promise you faithfully I will come back. Are you afraid to be left +alone?" + +"Somebody--or _something_--might come into the room while you are away," +said the old lady, shuddering. "If you _must_ go, lock me in, and take +the key with you. But don't be longer than five minutes, if you have a +spark of pity for a poor, deserted old woman!" + +I acted upon her suggestion. I locked her in and went---- Where? +Upstairs or down? Up, to Richard Manx's room. + +I reached his door and listened. No sound came to my ears--no sound of +a waking or sleeping inmate of the room. I retreated down half-a-dozen +stairs with a heavy tread. No one appeared at the attic door to inquire +the meaning of the noise. I ascended the stairs again, and, with a +woman's touch, placed my hand on the handle of the door. It yielded. I +looked into the room. No person was there. I ventured boldly in. The +room was empty! + +Assuring myself of this, I left the room as quickly as I had entered it. +I did not pause at Mrs. Bailey's room on the first floor. I went down +to the street door, and quietly put up the door chain. _Now_, no person +could possibly enter or leave the house without my knowledge. + +Then I went down to Mrs. Preedy in the kitchen, and said that Mrs. +Bailey was unwell, and wished me to stop with her for a little while. + +"Stop, and welcome, Becky," said Mrs. Preedy, with the sweetest smile. + +What a power is money! My fanciful legacy of a paltry three hundred +pounds had placed this woman and me on an equality, and she was the +first to acknowledge it. + +I ascended to Mrs. Bailey's room, and unlocked her door. I had really +not been absent for more than five minutes, but she said it seemed like +thirty. I remained with her for over an hour, during which time the +muffled sounds in the next house continued. I convinced myself that they +could not be heard in any other room by going out, now and again, for +a few moments, and listening in other rooms on the first and second +floors. At length the sound ceased, and after waiting a quarter of an +hour longer without it being renewed, I bade Mrs. Bailey good night, +telling her, in a cheerful voice, that she was mistaken in supposing +there were no mice in the empty house next door. + +"Are you sure it is mice, Becky?" she asked, anxiously. + +"Am I sure?" I repeated, laughing. "Why, you nervous old creature, what +else can it be? Let us make a bargain to say nothing about it except to +each other, or we shall have everybody laughing at us. And what would be +worse, the detectives might appear again." + +The bargain was made, and I kissed the old lady, and left her. + +I went straight upstairs, cautiously, as before. Richard Manx was in his +room! + +I went down to the street door. The chain was up! A convincing proof +that it was this very Richard Manx, our young man lodger--the man who +paints and wears a wig, and who is flat-footed--whose movements I had +heard through the wall which divides Mrs. Bailey's room from the room +in which the murder was committed. + +I am too tired to write a minute longer. This is the longest letter I +have ever written. Good night, dear love. God bless and guard you! + + Your ever devoted, + BECKY. + +[Decoration] + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + THE "EVENING MOON" RE-OPENS THE SUBJECT OF THE GREAT PORTER SQUARE + MURDER, AND RELATES A ROMANTIC STORY CONCERNING THE MURDERED MAN + AND HIS WIDOW. + + +A few hours before Becky wrote this last letter to the man she loved, +the _Evening Moon_ presented its readers with a Supplement entirely +devoted to particulars relating to the murder in No. 119, Great Porter +Square. The Supplement was distinguished by a number of sensational +headings which the street news-vendors industriously circulated with +the full force of their lungs:-- + + THE MURDER IN GREAT PORTER SQUARE. + + A ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE. + + A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. + + WEALTH, BEAUTY, AND LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. + +After a lapse of several weeks, we re-open the subject of the murder in +Great Porter Square. Although the murderer is still at large, the affair +has advanced another and most important stage, and one element of +mystery in connection with it is satisfactorily cleared up. We are about +to disclose the name of the murdered man, and at the same time to lay +before our readers certain interesting information relating to him which +without doubt will be eagerly read. For this information we are again +indebted to the Special Reporter, whose graphic account of the trial and +of his subsequent adventures in relation to Antony Cowlrick, the person +accused of the murder, has been circulated far and wide. + +Until now, the murder in Great Porter Square has been distinguished by +two unsatisfactory features. The first and most important is that the +murderer was undiscovered. Unhappily no light has been thrown upon this +part of the affair. The second, and most interesting feature, was that +the man who was murdered was unknown. We do not remember a parallel +case. But the murdered man is now identified, and his widow is lamenting +his cruel and untimely death. Before our readers reach the end of our +article, which, for the purpose of better description, we throw into +narrative form, they will indeed admit that truth is stranger than +fiction. + +There lived in the West of London, near to one of our most fashionable +parks, a gentleman of the name of Holdfast. He was a widower, having +lost his wife a year before the commencement of our narrative. He had +but one child, a son named Frederick, who was at Oxford, with a liberal +allowance. The son is described as a young gentleman with engaging +manners, and of a lively disposition; it was whispered also, that he was +given to dissipation, and had made his father's purse suffer to a woeful +extent. There is nothing extraordinary in this. What are rich fathers +good for in this world if they send their sons to college and keep their +pockets buttoned? Money lenders _must_ live, and they take especial +good care to thrive and grow fat. Young gentlemen _must_ see life, and +they take especial good care to drink deep of the intoxicating cup, +and to sow a plentiful crop of wild oats. It is an old story, and our +readers will have no difficulty in supplying certain accessories in +the shape of pretty women, late suppers, horse racing, gambling, kite +flying, post obits, and the thousand and one other commonplace but +important elements in the younger days of manhood in the life of an +only son. + +The death of Mr. Holdfast's wife was a severe blow to him; his son was +left to him, truly; but what comfort to the bereaved father could a +son have been who was endowed with vicious tastes, and whose career +of dissipation was capped by a depraved association with degraded +women--especially with one with whom he formed a close connection, which +would have broken his father's heart, had that father himself not been +of a self-sustaining, proud, and high-minded disposition. The news +of his son's disgraceful connection, although it did not break the +father's heart, was the means of effecting a breach between the father +and son which was destined never to be healed. Before, however, this +severance took place, an important change occurred in Mr. Holdfast's +household. Mr. Holdfast married again, a very lovely woman, whose name, +before she became Mrs. Holdfast, was Lydia Wilson. + +The lady was young, and an orphan. Her relatives were far away in the +country, and she was alone in London. Her entire wealth amounted to +about five hundred pounds in United States bonds. It was while she was +on a visit to the City, with the intention of converting these bonds +into English money, that she and Mr. Holdfast first met. The Royal +Exchange does not suggest itself as the most likely place in the world +in which a gentleman of Mr. Holdfast's age and character would fall in +love at first sight. It happened, however. He saw the young lady looking +about her, perplexed and bewildered by the bustling throng of clerks, +brokers, and speculators; it was the busiest time of the day, and it +could not escape Mr. Holdfast's notice, his attention having been first +arrested by the loveliness of her face and figure, that she was utterly +unused to the busy scene in which she found herself. The young lady made +an attempt to cross the road between the Mansion House and the Royal +Exchange; she became confused amid the bewildering tangle of vehicles, +and was in danger of being run over, when Mr. Holdfast hastened to her +rescue. The road safely crossed, she looked into Mr. Holdfast's face +and thanked him. So there, in the midst of the world's busiest mart, +the story of a romance was commenced which might serve novelists with a +tempting theme. For the particulars of the story we are now relating we +are indebted to the lady herself, still young and beautiful, but plunged +into the deepest grief by the murder of her husband. It is difficult for +us to appropriately describe her modesty and innocent confidence in the +interview between her and our Reporter. It is not that she is beautiful, +and one of England's fairest daughters, but it is that truth dwells in +her face and eyes. Her voice is peculiarly soft and sweet, and to doubt +her when she speaks is an impossibility. + +Nothing was more natural than that Mr. Holdfast, having thus far +assisted the young lady, should inquire if he could be of any further +use to her. Miss Lydia Wilson really was in quest of a broker, to whom +she had been recommended to negotiate the sale of her bonds, but in +her confusion and terror she had forgotten both name and address. +Ascertaining the nature of her mission, Mr. Holdfast offered to +introduce her to a respectable firm; she accepted his offer, and they +walked together to the broker's office. On the way they conversed, and +Mr. Holdfast learnt, among other particulars, that the young lady was an +orphan, and that these bonds represented all that she had in the world +to depend upon. In the broker's office the young lady produced her +securities and gave them to the principal of the firm. He sent out at +once to ascertain the exact price of the market; the clerk departed, +with the bonds in his possession, and was absent longer than he was +expected to be. At length he returned, and requested a private interview +with his employer. The interview took place, and the broker presently +returned, and inquired of Miss Wilson how she became possessed of the +bonds. + +The lady replied haughtily that she was not in a broker's office to be +catechised by a stranger about her private affairs; and upon that Mr. +Holdfast also spoke warmly in the lady's behalf. The broker rejoined +that Miss Lydia Wilson was as much a stranger to him as he was to her. +Again, Mr. Holdfast, seeing that the lovely woman who had been thrown +upon his protection was agitated by the broker's manner, interposed. + +"You forget," he said, "that it was I who introduced this lady to your +firm. Is not my introduction a sufficient guarantee?" + +"Amply sufficient," said the broker. "But business is business; such +securities as these cannot easily be disposed of." + +"Why?" inquired Mr. Holdfast. + +"Because," said the broker, "they are forgeries." + +"Then I am ruined!" cried the young lady. + +"No," said Mr. Holdfast. "If the bonds _are_ forgeries, you shall not be +the loser--that is, if you will confer upon me the honour of accepting +me as your banker." + +The young lady could not continue so delicate a conversation in the +presence of a man who seemed to doubt her. She rose to leave the +broker's office, and when she and Mr. Holdfast were again in the open +air, he said: + +"Allow me to know more of you. I shall undoubtedly be able to assist +you. You cannot conceal from me that the unexpected discovery of +this forgery is likely to deeply embarrass you. Do not consider me +impertinent when I hazard the guess that you had an immediate use for +some part of the money you expected to receive from the sale of these +securities." + +"You guess rightly," said the young lady; "I wished to discharge a few +trifling debts." Her lips trembled, and her eyes were filled with tears. + +"And--asking you to pardon my presumption--your purse is not too heavily +weighted." + +"I have just," said the young lady, producing her purse, and opening it, +"three shillings and sixpence to live upon." + +Now, although this was a serious declaration, the young lady, when she +made it, spoke almost merrily. Her lips no longer trembled, her eyes +were bright again. These sudden changes of humour, from sorrow to +gaiety, from pensiveness to light-heartedness, are not her least +charming attributes. Small wonder that Mr. Holdfast was captivated by +them and by her beauty! + +"What a child you are!" he exclaimed. "Three shillings and sixpence is +not sufficient to keep you for half a day." + +"Is it not?" asked the young lady, with delightful simplicity. "What a +pity it is that we cannot live like fairies." + +"My dear young lady," remarked Mr. Holdfast, taking her hand in his, +"you sadly need a protector. Have you really any objection to letting +me hear the story of these bonds?" + +She related it to him without hesitation. It was simple enough. Some +years ago, being already motherless, her father died, and left her in +the care of his sister, a married woman with a family. The orphan girl +had a guardian who, singular to say, she never saw. He lived in London, +she in the country. The guardian, she understood from her father's last +words, held in trust for her a sum of money, represented by bonds, +which she would receive when she became twenty-one years of age. In +the meantime she was to live with her aunt, who was to be paid from +the money due from time to time for interest on the bonds. The payment +for her board and lodging was forwarded regularly by the young lady's +guardian, and she looked forward impatiently to the time when she would +become her own mistress. She was unhappy in the house of her aunt, who +treated her more like a dependent than a relative and a lady. + +"I think," said Mrs. Holdfast to our Reporter, "that she was +disappointed the money had not been left to her instead of me, and +that she would have been glad if I had died, so that she might obtain +possession of it as next of kin. It would not have benefited her, the +bonds being of no value, for it was hardly likely she would have met +with such a friend as Mr. Holdfast proved to me--the best, the most +generous of men! And I have lost him! I have lost him!" + +Bursts of grief such as this were frequent during the interview, which +we are throwing into the form of a narrative, with no more licence, we +hope, than we are entitled to use. + +The story went on to its natural end. The young lady's position in the +house to which her father confided her became almost unendurable, but +she was compelled to suffer in silence. A small allowance for pocket +money was sent to her by her guardian, and the best part of this she +saved to defray the expenses to London and to enable her to live for +a while; for she was resolved to leave her aunt on the very day she +reached the age of twenty-one. + +"Do I look older?" she asked of our Reporter. + +He replied, with truth and gallantry, that he would have scarcely taken +her for that. + +"You flatter me," she said, with a sad smile; "I feel as if I were +fifty. This dreadful blow has made an old woman of me!" + +To conclude the story she related to Mr. Holdfast, the day before she +was twenty-one she received a packet from her guardian in London, and a +letter saying that he was going abroad, to America she believed, perhaps +never to return, and that he completed the trust imposed upon him by +her father by sending her her little fortune. It was contained in the +packet, and consisted of the United States bonds which had that day been +declared to be forgeries. The departure of her guardian did not cause +her to waver in her determination to leave her aunt's home the moment +she was entitled to do so. Her life had been completely wretched and +unhappy, and her only desire was to place a long distance between +herself and her cruel relative, so that the woman could not harass her. +The day arrived, and with a light heart, with her fortune in her pocket, +Lydia Wilson, without even wishing her aunt good-bye or giving the +slightest clue as to the direction of her flight, left her home, and +took a railway ticket to London. "Not all the way to London first," +said the young lady; "I broke the journey half-way, so that if my aunt +followed me, she would have the greater difficulty in discovering me." +The young lady arrived in London, and took a modest lodging in what +she believed to be a respectable part of the City. When she met Mr. +Holdfast, she had been in London five weeks, and the little money she +had saved was gone, with the exception of three shillings and sixpence. +Then she fell back upon the bonds, and considered herself as rich as a +princess. + +"But even this money," said Mr. Holdfast to her, "would not last for +ever." + +"O, yes, it would," insisted the young lady; "I would have made it last +for ever!" + +What was to be done with so impracticable and charming a creature, with +a young lady, utterly alone and without resources, and whose tastes, as +she herself admits, were always of an expensive kind? + +Mr. Holdfast saw the danger which beset her, and determined to shield +her from harm. To have warned her of the pitfalls and traps with which +such a city as London is dotted would have been next to useless. To such +an innocent mind as hers, the warning itself would have seemed like a +trap to snare the woman it was intended to save. + +"Have you any objection," said Mr. Holdfast, when the young lady's story +was finished, "to my endeavouring to find the guardian who has wronged +you? America is now a near land, and I could enlist the services of men +who would not fail to track the scoundrel." + +But to this proposition the young lady would not consent. The bonds +might have been given to her guardian by her dead father. In that case, +the honour of a beloved parent might be called into question. Anything +in preference to that; poverty, privation, perhaps an early death! Mr. +Holdfast was touched to his inmost soul by the pathos of this situation. + +"I will keep the bonds," he said, "and shall insist upon your accepting +the offer of my friendship." + +"Promise me, then," said the young lady, conquered by his earnestness +and undoubted honesty of intention, "that you will take no steps to +compromise the honoured name of my dear father. Promise me that you will +not show the bonds to strangers." + +"No eye but mine shall see them," said Mr. Holdfast, opening his safe +and depositing the prized securities in a secret drawer. "And now," +he continued, "you bank with me, and you draw from me fifty pounds, +represented by eight five-pound notes and ten sovereigns in gold. Here +they are. Count them. No? Very well. Count them when you get home, and +take great care of them. You little know the roguery of human nature. +There's not a day that you cannot read in the London papers accounts of +ladies having their pockets picked and their purses stolen. Let me see +your purse. Why, it is a fairy purse! You cannot get half of this money +into it. My dear young lady, we _cannot_ live like the fairies. Human +creatures are bound to be, to some small extent, practical. Take my +purse--it is utterly unfit for your delicate hands, but it will answer +its present purpose. See. I pack the money safely in it; take it home +and put it in a place of safety." + +"How can I repay you?" asked the young lady, impressed no less by this +gentleman's generosity than by his wonderful kindness of manner. + +"By saying we are friends," he replied, "and by promising to come to see +me soon again." + +"Of course, I must do that," she said, gaily, "to see that my banker +does not run away." + +The next thing he asked for was her address, but she was not inclined, +at first, to give it to him; he appreciated the reason for her +disinclination, and said that he had no intention of calling upon her, +and that he wanted the address to use only in the event of its being +necessary to write to her. + +"I can trust you," she said, and complied with his wish. + +To his surprise and gratification the young lady, of her own accord, +paid him a visit on the following day. She entered his office with a +smiling face, causing, no doubt, quite a flutter in the hearts of Mr. +Holdfast's clerks and bookkeepers. It is not often so fair a vision is +seen in a London's merchant's place of business. + +From the young lady's appearance Mr. Holdfast was led to believe that +she had news of a joyful nature to communicate, and he was therefore +very much astonished when she said, in the pleasantest manner: + +"I have lost your purse." + +"With the money in it?" he inquired, his tone expressing his +astonishment. + +"Yes, I am sorry to say," she replied, laughing at his consternation, +"with the money in it. I did not like to come back yesterday, for fear +you would scold me." + +"You lost it yesterday, then?" + +"Yes, within an hour of my leaving your office." + +"How on earth did it happen?" + +"In the simplest manner possible. You were quite right, Mr. Holdfast, in +saying that I did not know the roguery of human nature. I was standing +at a cake shop, looking in at the window--I am so fond of cakes!--and +two little girls and a woman were standing by my side. The children were +talking--they would like this cake, they would like that--and such a +many round O's fell from their lips that I could not help being amused. +Poor little things! They looked very hungry, and I quite pitied them. +Some one tapped my left shoulder, and I turned round to see who it +was--when, would you believe it?--your purse, which was in my right +hand, was snatched from me like lightning. And the extraordinary part of +the affair is, that I saw no one behind me, nor any person except the +woman and two children within yards of me!" + +She related the particulars of the robbery as though it had not happened +to her and did not affect her, but some stranger who had plenty of +money, and would not feel the loss. + +"What did you do?" asked Mr. Holdfast. + +"I laughed. I couldn't help it--it was so clever! Of course I looked +about me, but that did not bring back your purse. Then I took the poor +children into the cake shop, and treated them to cakes, and had some +myself, and gave them what money remained of my three shillings and +sixpence, and sent them home quite happy." + +"And left yourself without a penny?" said Mr. Holdfast, almost overcome +with delight, as he afterwards told her, at her childish innocence, +simplicity and kindness. + +"Yes," she replied, overjoyed that he did not scold her, "I left myself +without a penny." + +"You will have to buy me another purse," he said. + +The young lady exhibited her own little fairy porte-monnaie, and turned +it out--there was not a sixpence in it. "You must give me some money to +do it with," she said. + +"You are not fit to be trusted with money," he said; "I really am +puzzled what to do with you." + +Upon this she burst into tears; her helpless position, and his goodness +and tenderness, overcame her. + +"If you cry like that," he said softly, "I shall never forgive myself." + +Her depression vanished; her sunny look returned; and they conversed +together thereafter as though they had known each other for years--as +though he had been her father's friend, and had nursed her on his knee +when she was a child. Needless to say, he made matters right with this +simple, innocent, confiding young lady, and that from that time there +existed between them a bond which was destined to ripen into the closest +and most binding tie which man and woman can contract. At first she +looked upon him as her second father, but insensibly there dawned upon +her soul a love as sweet and strong as if he had been a twenty years +younger man than he was. When he asked her to be his wife, telling +her that he most truly loved her, that he would devote himself to her +and make her the happiest woman in the world, she raised a thousand +objections. + +"One objection would be sufficient," he said, sadly, "if you cannot +forget it. My age." + +She declared, indeed, that that was not an obstacle--that she looked up +to him as she could to no other man--that he was the noblest being who +had ever crossed her path of life, and that she could never, never +forget him. Mr. Holdfast urged her then to explain to him in plain terms +the precise nature of her objections. + +"I can make you happy," he said. + +"You could make any woman happy," she replied. + +"And I should be the happiest man--you would make me so." + +"I would try," she replied, softly. + +"Then tell me why you raise cruel obstacles in the way of our happiness. +I will marry you by force if you are not candid with me." + +"You know nothing of my family," she said; "my parents are dead, and the +few relatives I have I would not allow to darken the threshold of your +door." + +"Nor shall they. You shall be the mistress and the master of my house, +and I will be your slave." + +"For shame to talk in that way to a foolish girl like me--to a girl who +is almost nameless, and who has not a shilling to her fortune!" + +"Have I not more than enough? Do you wish to make me believe that you do +not understand my character?" + +"No; I do understand it, and if you were poor like me, or I were rich +like you-- But even then there would be an obstacle hard to surmount. +Your son is but a few years older than myself--he might be my brother. +I should be ashamed to look him in the face. He would say I married you +for your money. Before the wedding day, were he to say a word to me, +were he to give one look, to touch my pride, I would run away, and you +would never, never find me. Ah! let us say good-bye--let us shake hands +and part! It is best so. Then I shall never have anything to reproach +myself with. Then I should not be made to suffer from the remarks of +envious people that I tricked you into a marriage with a penniless, +friendless girl!" + +"As God is my judge," he cried, "you shall be my wife, and no other +man's! I will not let you escape me! And to make matters sure, we will +give neither my son--who would bring my name to shame--nor envious +people the power to say a word to hurt your feelings. We will be married +privately, by the registrar. Leave all to me. I look upon you as my wife +from this day. Place your hand in mine, and say you will marry me, or I +will never more believe in woman's truth." + +His impetuosity carried the day--he spoke with the fire of a young man +of twenty-five. She placed her hand in his, and said, + +"I am yours." + +Three weeks afterwards, Lydia Wilson became Mr. Holdfast's wife, and his +son Frederick was in ignorance that he had married again. The date of +the marriage was exactly two years to the day before the fatal night +upon which Mr. Holdfast was found murdered in No. 119 Great Porter +Square. + +[Decoration] + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + THE "EVENING MOON" CONTINUES ITS ACCOUNT OF THE TRAGEDY, AND + DESCRIBES THE SHAMEFUL PART ENACTED BY MR. FREDERICK HOLDFAST IN + HIS FATHER'S HOUSE. + + +When a man of Mr. Holdfast's age and wealth marries, for love, a lady +thirty years younger than himself, his friends generally regard him with +pity, and predict that the day must arrive when he will awake from his +infatuated dream. "Warm-blooded May and cold-blooded December," say +Mrs. Grundy and her family; "what can be expected?" They are much more +uncharitable towards the lady, if she happen to be poor, as in such +cases she is almost certain to be. It is not possible for her to awake +from her dream, for she is judged as having been very wide awake, and +as having entrapped the poor man with wiles most artfully designed and +carried out, fooling the doting old lover to the top of his bent, her +eyes and heart set upon nothing but his money. + +The judgment is too often correct. Beauty sacrificing itself at the +altar of Mammon is no new subject for writer or painter whose satires +are drawn from truth and nature. But an arrow tipped with these feathers +of false feeling, and aimed at Mr. Holdfast and his lovely bride, would +have fallen short of its mark. Their match, despite the disparity of +age, was in the best sense of the word a love-match. On Mr. Holdfast's +side there could be no doubt of it; and as little doubt could there be +of a creature so guileless as Lydia Wilson, who had been brought up in +the most delightful ignorance of the value of money. + +"We loved each other to the last," says the innocent and much-wronged +widow. "To have saved my dear husband's life I would have sacrificed my +own--willingly, joyfully have sacrificed it!" + +By what strange roads, then, had so fair a commencement been conducted +to so foul and tragic an end? + +Reference has already been made to Mr. Holdfast's son Frederick, and the +sketch we have given of his character will be a sufficient indication +of the kind of man he was. We speak of him in the past tense, for he is +dead. + +Shortly after Mr. Holdfast's second marriage, he communicated to his +son the news of his having chosen a beautiful and amiable woman as a +companion. In his letter the father expressed a hope that his son, who +had already done so much to wound a father's heart, would not add to +his misconduct by behaving other than dutifully and respectfully to his +second mother. The son wrote back that he had no second mother, and +would acknowledge none; but that he would soon be in London to embrace +his father and shake hands with his father's wife. Attention is directed +to the terms of this expression of feeling. His father he would embrace, +his father's wife he would shake hands with. To one he would exhibit +affection, to the other coldness. There was here at once struck the +keynote to many strange family events (in one of which the affections +were made to play a monstrous part), leading, there is reason to +believe, to the untimely death of a father who sinned only on the side +of indulgence and love. + +"I had, from the first," said the widow of the murdered man, "a +mysterious foreboding about Frederick Holdfast. Do not ask me to account +for it, for it is out of my power. I am a creature of feeling and fancy, +but I am seldom wrong. I sometimes shudder when I pass a stranger in the +street, and I know--something whispers within me--that that stranger has +committed a crime, or is about to commit a crime. I sometimes feel glad +when I meet a person for the first time, as I have met you"--(she was +addressing our Reporter)--"and then I know that that person is an +honourable man, and that I can confide in him. I had a foreboding for +ill when I first heard the name of Mr. Frederick Holdfast. I shuddered +and turned as cold as ice; and that was even before I knew that his +father and he were not upon friendly terms. I tried to shake off the +feeling, asking myself how was it possible there could be any real +wickedness in the son of a man so noble as my dear lost husband? Alas! +I have lived to discover that my foreboding of evil was but too true!" + +Mr. Frederick Holdfast came to London, and made the acquaintance of his +stepmother. He had rooms in his father's house, but his habits were very +irregular. He seldom dined with his father and his father's wife, as +he insisted upon calling her: he would not accompany them to ball or +party--for, from the date of his second marriage, Mr. Holdfast led a new +and happier life. He gave balls and parties at home, of which his wife +was the queen of beauty; he went into society; the gloom which had been +habitual with him departed from his heart. But the son would not share +this happiness; he was the thorn in the side of the newly-married +couple. We continue the narrative in the widow's words. + +"I did everything in my power," she said, with touching plaintiveness, +"to reconcile father and son. I made excuses for Frederick. I said, +'Perhaps Frederick is in debt; it troubles him; you are rich.' There +was no occasion for me to say another word to such a generous gentleman +as my husband. The very next day he told me that he had had a serious +conversation with Frederick, who had confessed to him that he was deeply +in debt. How much? Thousands. He showed me a list, but I scarcely looked +at it. 'Shall I pay these debts?' my husband asked. 'Of course,' I +replied; 'pay them immediately, and fill Frederick's pockets with +money.' 'I have done that very thing,' said Mr. Holdfast, 'a dozen times +already, and he has always promised me he would reform.' 'Never mind,' I +said, 'perhaps he will keep his word this time. Pay his debts once more, +and let us all live happily together.' That was my only wish--that we +should all be friends, and that Frederick should have no excuse to +reproach me for having married his father. The debts were paid, and Mr. +Holdfast brought his son to me, and said to him 'Frederick, you have to +thank this angel'--(pray, pray do not think I am saying a word that is +not true! My husband was only too kind to me, and loved me so much that +he would often pay me extravagant compliments)--'You have to thank this +angel,' said Mr. Holdfast to his son, 'for what has been done this day. +You can now hold up your head with honour. Let bye-gones be bye-gones. +Kiss Mrs. Holdfast, and promise to turn over a new leaf.' I held out my +cheek to him, and he looked at me coldly and turned away. I was scarlet +with shame. Was it not enough to rouse a woman's animosity?--such +treatment! But it did not rouse mine--no; I still hoped that things +would come right. Mr. Holdfast did not relate to me the particulars of +the interview between himself and his son, and I did not inquire. Why +should I pry into a young man's secrets? And what right had I to do +anything but try and make peace between my husband and my husband's +son? Frederick had been wild, but so have plenty of other college men. +Many of them have turned out well afterwards; I have heard of some who +were very bad young men, and afterwards became Judges and Members of +Parliament. Why should not Frederick do the same--why should he not +reform, and become a Judge or a Member of Parliament? My great wish +was that Mr. Holdfast should keep his son with him, and that Frederick +should marry some good girl, and settle down. I had tried to bring it +about. I had given parties, and had invited pretty girls; but Frederick +seldom made his appearance at my assemblies, and when he did, stopped +only for a few minutes. On the very evening of the day upon which my +husband, at my intercession, paid Frederick's debts, I had a ball at my +house. Is it wrong to be fond of parties and dancing? If it is, you will +blame me very much, for I am very fond of dancing. With a good partner I +could waltz all night, and not feel tired. Mr. Holdfast did not dance, +but he had no objection to my enjoying myself in this way. On the +contrary, he encouraged it. He would sit down to his whist, and when +the ball was over I would tell him all the foolish things my partners +had said to me. Well, on this night we were to have a grand ball, and I +very much wished Frederick to be present, for I wanted to introduce him +to some pretty girls I had invited. But in the morning he had insulted +me, and had refused to kiss me as a sign of reconciliation. Upon +thinking it over I said to myself that perhaps he did not think it +proper to kiss me, because I was young and----well, not exactly +bad-looking. I was always trying to make excuses for him in my mind. +Though there could really be no harm in kissing one's mother--do you +believe there is?--even if your mother _is_ younger than yourself! If +_I_ were a young man, _I_ should have no objection! So I determined to +ask Frederick to come to my ball, and bind him to it. He was to dine +with us, and, for a wonder, he did not disappoint us. Over dinner I +said, 'Frederick, I should like you very, very particularly to come to +my ball to-night.' Contrary to his usual custom of pleading an excuse +of another engagement--it was generally to meet some friend at his +club--he said, quite readily, 'I will come.' I was surprised. 'You have +promised before,' I said, 'but you have almost always disappointed me. I +shall take your promise now as a gentleman's promise, and shall expect +you to keep it. And you must not only come; you must stop and dance.' He +replied, without the slightest hesitation, 'I will come, and I will stop +and dance.' 'Now,' I said, so glad at his amiability, 'I will make it +hard for you to forget. Here is my programme. You may dance two dances +with me. I am sure you would not keep a lady waiting. Behave to me as +you would to any other lady in society.' I gave him my card, and he +wrote upon it, and handed it back to me. I did not look to see the +dances he had engaged; I was too pleased at my success. His father, +also, was very much pleased, and our dinner on this evening was the +pleasantest we had ever enjoyed together. Three hours later, my guests +began to arrive. While I was dressing, one of my maids brought in the +loveliest bouquet I had ever seen. From Mr. Holdfast? No. From his son, +Frederick. Was not that a sign of perfect reconciliation, and had I +not every reason to be happy? O, if I had known! I would have cast the +flowers to the ground, and have trodden them under my feet! But we can +never tell, can we, what is going to happen to us? I dressed, and went +down to the ball room. I wore a pale blue silk, with flounces of lace, +caught up here and there with forget-me-nots, and I had pearls in my +hair. Mr. Holdfast said I looked bewitching. I was in the best of +spirits, and felt sure that this was going to be one of the happiest +evenings in my life. How shall I tell you what happened? I am ashamed +and horrified when I think of it! But it was not my fault, and I did +everything I could to lead Frederick away from his dreadful, sinful +infatuation." + +Our Reporter himself takes up the narrative, and relates what followed +in his own words. The beautiful widow was overcome by shame at the +revelation she had to make, and it was only by considerate and skilful +persuasion that our representative was able to elicit from her the full +particulars of what she rightly called a dreadful, sinful infatuation. + +The ball was a perfect success; there were many beautiful women among +the guests, but the most beautiful of all was the hostess herself. A +gentleman asked her to dance, and she handed him her card. + +"How annoying!" he exclaimed. "You are engaged for every waltz." + +"No," she replied, "only for two." + +"But look," said the gentleman. + +She glanced at her card, and found that Frederick had placed his name +against every one of the six waltzes comprised in the programme. + +"The foolish fellow!" she cried, "I promised him two, and he has +appropriated six!" + +"In that case," observed the gentleman, "as you are much too precious to +be monopolised, I may take the liberty of erasing Mr. Frederick +Holdfast's name from one waltz at least, and writing my own in its +place." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Holdfast, "I will promise you one." + +Just as the gentleman had made the alteration in the card Frederick came +up, and protested against being deprived of the waltz. + +"You made me promise to stop and dance," he said, "and I will dance with +no other lady in the room but you." + +"Why," said Mrs. Holdfast, "there are fifty pretty girls here, who will +be delighted to dance with you." + +"I have no eyes for any lady but yourself," he said, offering her his +arm. "You wear the crown of beauty." + +Surprised as she was at this sudden change in him, it was so much better +than the systematically cold manner in which he had hitherto treated +her, that she humoured him and was quite disposed to yield to his +caprices. He told her during the evening that he was jealous of any +person dancing with her but himself; he paid her a thousand compliments; +he was most devoted in his attentions. + +"Frederick is a changed man," she said to her husband, when he came from +the whist to inquire how she was enjoying herself; "he has been the most +attentive of cavaliers." + +Mr. Holdfast expressed his satisfaction to his son. + +"You have commenced your new leaf well, Frederick," he said; "I hope you +will go on as you have begun." + +"I intend to do so, sir," replied Frederick. + +Had Mr. Holdfast understood the exact meaning of these words, his +advice to his son would have been of a precisely opposite nature, and +on that very night the severance of father and son would have been +complete. + +The evening progressed; music, pretty women, gallant men, brilliant +lights, flowers, a sumptuous supper, a fascinating and charming hostess, +formed the sum of general happiness. The ball was spoken of as the +most successful of the season. In an interval between the dances Mrs. +Holdfast found herself alone with Frederick in a conservatory. She had +a difficulty in fastening one of the buttons of her glove. Frederick +offered his assistance; she held out her white arm; his fingers trembled +as he clumsily essayed to fasten the button. + +"You seem agitated," she said to him, with a smile. + +"I have behaved to you like a brute," he muttered. + +"Don't think of the past," she said sweetly, "we commence from this +night." + +"It will be the commencement of heaven or hell to me!" he said, in a +voice almost indistinct, with contrition as she supposed. "My father +was right in calling you an angel. When I reflect upon my conduct this +morning I can't help thinking I must have been mad. To refuse to kiss +a beautiful woman like you! Let me kiss you now, in token of my +repentance." + +She offered him her cheek, and he seized her in his arms, and kissed her +lips. + +"I love you! I love you!" he whispered, and before she could release +herself he had kissed her a dozen times. "That will make amends for my +rudeness this morning," he said, as he rushed from her presence. + +She scarcely knew what to think; she was bewildered by his strange +behaviour, but she was too pure-minded to put any but an innocent +construction upon it. Poor lady! she had had no experience of that kind +of man in whose eyes a woman's good name is a thing to trifle with and +destroy, and who afterwards exults in the misery he has brought upon an +unsuspecting, confiding heart. She lived to learn the bitter lesson. Too +soon did she learn it! Too soon did the horrible truth force itself upon +her soul that her husband's son loved her, or professed to love her--and +that he was using all his artifices to prevail upon her to accept him +as her secret lover. At first she refused to credit it; she had read of +such things, but had never believed they could exist. To the pure all +things are pure, and so for a time she cast away the suspicion which +intruded itself that the heart of this young man could harbour such +treachery towards a father too ready to forgive the errors which stain +a man's name with dishonour. Her position was most perplexing. Instead +of absenting himself from home, Frederick was unremitting in his +attendance upon her. When he came down to breakfast in the morning he +kissed her, but never before his father. When he went out of the house +he kissed her--but his father never saw the embrace. In private, when no +one else was by, he called her "Lydia," or "dear Lydia"; when his father +or strangers were present, he addressed her as Mrs. Holdfast. He was so +subtle in his devices that he wove around her and himself a chain of +secrecy which caused her the greatest misery. She was no match for him. +He was a man of the world; she, a young and innocent girl brought, for +the first time, face to face with deliberate villainy. Her position +was rendered the more embarrassing by the pleasure which Frederick's +outward conduct afforded her husband. He expressed his pleasure to her +frequently. "Our union," he said to her, "has brought happiness to me in +more ways than one. Frederick has reformed; he is all I wish him to be; +and I owe it to you that I can look forward now with satisfaction to his +future." How could she undeceive the fond father? She contemplated with +shudders the effect of the revelation it was in her power to make. Could +she not in some way avoid the exposure? Could she not bring the son to a +true sense of his shameful and unmanly conduct? She would try--she would +try; innocence and a good intent would give her strength and courage. +She was not aware of the difficulty of the task she had set herself. + +In its execution private interviews between Frederick and herself were +necessary, and she had to solicit them. The eagerness with which he +acceded to her request to speak with him in the absence of her husband +should have been a warning to her--but she saw nothing but the possible +success of a worthy design which was to save her husband from bitter +grief. She spoke to Frederick seriously; she endeavoured to show him +not only the wickedness but the folly of his passion for her; she told +him that she loved his father, and that if he did not conquer his mad +infatuation for her, an exposure must ensue which would cover him with +shame. And the result of her endeavour to bring the young man to reason +was a declaration on his part, repeated again and again, that he loved +her more than ever. He had the cunning to hint to her that she was +already compromised, and that she could not defend herself successfully +against an imputation of guilt. Appearances were all against her; the +very interviews which she herself had planned and solicited were proofs +against her. These infamous arguments convinced her of the hopelessness +of her task, and with grief she relinquished it. She had no alternative +but to appeal for protection to her husband. We doubt whether in the +annals of social life a more delicate and painful situation could be +found. + +She faced her duty bravely. She had full confidence in the honour and +justice of her husband, and her confidence was not misplaced. Suffering +most deeply himself, he pitied her for the suffering she experienced +in being the innocent cause of what could not fail to be a life-long +separation between himself and his son. "You have done your duty," he +said, "and I will do mine. I am not only your husband and lover; I +am your protector." He called his son to him and they were closeted +together for hours. What passed between them, the wife never knew. Upon +that subject husband and wife maintained perfect silence. At the end +of the interview Frederick Holdfast left his father's house, never to +return. The echo of the banished son's footsteps still lingered in Lydia +Holdfast's ears when her husband called her into his study. His pale +face showed traces of deep suffering. Upon the writing table was a small +Bible, with silver clasps. + +"Lydia," said Mr. Holdfast, "this Bible was given to me by my first +wife. Two children she bore me--first, the man who has but now left +my house, and will not enter it again; then a girl, who died before +she could prattle. It were better that my son had so died, but it +was otherwise willed. In this Bible I wrote the record of my first +marriage--my own name, the maiden name of my wife, the church in which +we were married, and the date. It is here; and beneath it the record of +my marriage with you. Upon a separate page I wrote the date of the birth +of my son Frederick; beneath it, that of my second child, Alice, dead. +That page is no longer in the sacred Book. I have torn it out and +destroyed it; and as from this Bible I tore the record of my son's +birth, so from my life I have torn and destroyed his existence. He lives +no longer for me. I have now no child; I have only you!" He paused +awhile, and continued. "It is I, it seems," he said, pathetically, "who +have to turn over a new leaf. With the exception of yourself--my first +consideration--there is but one engrossing subject in my mind; the +honour of my name. I must watch carefully that it is not dragged in +the mud. From such a man as my son has grown into--heaven knows by +what means, for neither from myself nor from his mother can he have +inherited his base qualities--I am not safe for a moment. Between to-day +and the past, let there be a door fast closed, which neither you nor I +will ever attempt to open." + +Then this man, whose nature must have been very noble, kissed his young +wife, and asked that she would not disturb him for the remainder of +the day. "Only one person," he said, "is to be admitted to see me--my +lawyer." In the course of the afternoon that gentleman presented +himself, and did not leave until late in the night. His business is +explained by the date of a codicil to Mr. Holdfast's will, whereby the +son is disinherited, and Mr. Holdfast's entire fortune--amounting to not +less than one hundred thousand pounds--is left unreservedly to his wife. + +To avoid the tittle-tattle of the world, and the scandal which any open +admission of social disturbances would be sure to give rise to, Mr. +Holdfast insisted that his wife should mingle freely in the gaieties +of society. She would have preferred to have devoted herself to her +husband, and to have endeavoured, by wifely care and affection, to +soften the blow which had fallen upon him. But he would not allow her to +sacrifice herself. "My best happiness," he said, "is to know that you +are enjoying yourself." Therefore she went more frequently into society, +and fêted its members in her own house with princely liberality. When +people asked after Mr. Holdfast's son, the answer--dictated by the +father himself--was that he had gone abroad on a tour. It appeared, +indeed, that the compact between father and son was that the young man +should leave England. In this respect he kept his word. He went to +America, and his father soon received news of him. His career in the +States was disgraceful and dissipated; he seemed to have lost all +control over himself, and his only desire appeared to be to vex his +father's heart, and dishonour his father's name. Events so shaped +themselves that the father's presence was necessary in America to +personally explain to the heads of firms with whom he had for years +transacted an extensive business, the character of the son who, by +misrepresentations, was compromising his credit. When he communicated +to his wife his intention of leaving her for a short time, she begged +him not to go, or, if it were imperative that the journey should be +undertaken, to allow her to accompany him. To this request he would not +consent; he would not subject her to the discomfort of the voyage; and +he pointed out to her that her presence might be a hindrance instead of +a help to him. + +"Not only," he said, "must I set myself right with my agents in America, +but I must see my son. I will make one last appeal to him--I will speak +to him in the name of his dead mother! It is my duty, and I will perform +it. The wretched man, hearing of my arrival, may fly from the cities +in which it is necessary that I shall present myself. I must follow +him until we are once more face to face. Cannot you see that I must be +alone, and entirely free, to bring my mission to a successful issue." + +Mournfully, she was compelled to confess that he was right, and that it +was imperative his movements should not be hampered. She bade him an +affectionate farewell, little dreaming, as he drove away from the house, +that she had received his last kiss. + +He wrote regularly--from Queenstown, from ship-board, from New York. His +letters were filled with expressions of affection; of his business he +merely said, from time to time, that matters were not so serious as they +were represented to be. As he had suspected, his son flew before him, +and, resolute in his intention of having a last interview with him, he +followed the young man from city to city, from State to State. Weeks, +months were occupied in this pursuit, and it happened, on more than one +occasion, that Mrs. Holdfast was a considerable time without a letter +from her husband. She wrote to him again and again, entreating him to +give up the pursuit and come home, but strong as was his affection for +her, she could not shake his resolve. In one of his letters he hinted +that his son was not alone--that he was in company with a woman of more +than doubtful character; in another that this woman, having deserted the +misguided young man, had appealed to Mr. Holdfast himself for assistance +to enable her to return to England. "I did not refuse her," he wrote; "I +was only too happy to break the connection between her and Frederick. I +supplied her with money, and by the time you receive this she is most +probably in her native land." Actions such as this denoted the kindness +of his heart, and there is no doubt, had his son thrown himself at his +father's feet, and, admitting the errors of the past, promised amendment +in the future, that Mr. Holdfast would have helped him to commence a new +and better career. Mr. Holdfast spoke of this in his letters. "There are +other lands than England and America," he said, "where a man may build +up a name that shall be honoured, and live a life of usefulness and +happiness. In one of the Australian colonies, or in New Zealand, he may +work out his repentance, under conditions which offer almost a certainty +of a bright and honourable future." + +This was the father's aim--a wise and merciful design, altogether too +good in its intentions for the man it was to benefit. + +At length a letter arrived conveying the intelligence that Mr. Holdfast +had tracked his son to Minnesota, one of the Western States of America, +and was journeying onward in pursuit of him. This letter was not in Mr. +Holdfast's writing; it was written by a stranger, at his dictation, and +a satisfactory explanation of this circumstance was given. "Although I +am wearied in spirit," it said, "and sometimes feel that but for you I +would give up the world and its trials with thankfulness, I am not +really ill. My right hand has been wounded by the shutting of the door +of a railroad car, and I am unable to use it. For this reason you must +not feel uneasy if you do not hear from me for some time. I do not care +to entrust, even to a stranger, the particulars of my private troubles. +Good bye, and God bless you! Be happy!" These tender words were the last +she ever received from him. When she read them she was oppressed by an +ominous foreboding, and a voice within her whispered: "You will never +see him more!" But for one thrilling circumstance, nothing in the world +could have prevented her from taking instant passage to America to nurse +and comfort her dear husband. She was about to become a mother. Now, +indeed, she could not risk the perils of the voyage and the feverish +travelling in the States. Another and a dearer life claimed her care and +love. + +Within a week of the receipt of this last letter she learnt, from a +newspaper forwarded to her from a small town in Minnesota, that her +husband's quest was over. On the banks of the laughing waters of +Minne-haha the dead body of a stranger was found. He had not met his +death by drowning; from marks upon the body it was certain that he had +been killed--most likely in a drunken brawl. A gentleman travelling +through the district identified the body as that of Frederick Holdfast, +with whom he was well acquainted in Oxford. The occurrence excited +no comment, and simply supplied the text for an ordinary newspaper +paragraph. The body was buried, and in that distant part of the world +the man was soon forgotten. Thus was ended the shameful life of +Frederick Holdfast, a young man to whom fortune held out a liberal hand, +and whose career was marred by a lack of moral control. + +Shocked as Mrs. Holdfast was by the tragic news, she could not but feel +happy in the thought of the calmer future which lay before her. "My +husband will soon be home!" she thought, and her heart beat with glad +anticipation. + + +_END OF VOLUME I._ + + + + +Transcriber's note + + +Words in italics have been surrounded by _underscores_ and small +capitals have been changed to all capitals. + +Punctuation errors have been corrected silently. Also the +following corrections have been made, on page + + 12 "could'nt" changed to "couldn't" (So of course it couldn't have + been) + 19 "facination" changed to "fascination" (with a horrible + fascination) + 187 "And" changed to "and" (raised their voices, and I wasn't awake) + 211 "writhin" changed to "writhing" (Mrs. Bailey writhing in bed) + 247 "But" changed to "but" (feeling and fancy, but I am seldom + wrong) + 257 "herelf" changed to "herself" (how she was enjoying herself;) + 257 "have" added (his advice to his son would have been). + +Otherwise the original has been preserved, including inconsistent +spelling and hyphenation. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Great Porter Square, v. 1, by +Benjamin Leopold Farjeon + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42905 *** |