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diff --git a/42905.txt b/42905.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d9f2005..0000000 --- a/42905.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5840 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Great Porter Square, v. 1, by Benjamin Leopold Farjeon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Great Porter Square, v. 1 - A Mystery. - -Author: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon - -Release Date: June 10, 2013 [EBook #42905] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREAT PORTER SQUARE, V. 1 *** - - - - -Produced by eagkw, Robert Cicconetti and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - 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 could'nt 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. - -L100 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 L3 3s.; and sundry others. The total amount now in -our hands is L23 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 L68 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 L8 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 feted 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 THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREAT PORTER SQUARE, V. 1 *** - -***** This file should be named 42905.txt or 42905.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/9/0/42905/ - -Produced by eagkw, Robert Cicconetti and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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