MM 
 
 MaMNSttMttawiBejttMtts 
 
 K F AT-
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 BY 
 
 B. L. FAR J EON, 
 
 Author of " Grif? '■'London's Heart? " The House of White 
 
 Shadows" etc. 
 
 \ 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 WARD AND DOWNEY, 
 
 12, YORK STREET, COVE NT GARDEN. 
 
 1885. 
 [all rights reserved.]
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS 
 
 AND EINGSTON-ON-THAMES.
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. — Introduces Mrs. James Preedy ; 
 hints at the trouble into which 
 she has fallen ; and gives an in- 
 sight into her social position . I 
 
 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 
 
 ^^TrTf-'V.t-''
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 I HAT. 
 
 X. — The Special Reporter of the 
 " Evening Moon ' makes the 
 acquaintance of a little match 
 
 girl 121 
 
 XL — 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 ob- 
 tained the situation at No. 118 . 175 
 
 XVI. — In which Becky writes a second 
 letter to her friend in the coun- 
 try, and gives, a woman's reason 
 for not liking Richard Manx . 183 
 
 XVI L— 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 en- 
 acted by Mr. Frederick Hold- 
 fast 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. 
 
 M 
 
 RS. 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 
 
 vol. i. 1
 
 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 mantel- 
 piece was a square looking-glass in a ma- 
 hogany frame, ranged on each side of which 
 were faded photographs of men, women, and 
 children, and of one gentleman in parti- 
 cular 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 wonyer, my dear," to quote 
 Mrs. Freed)' — 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." Tims do we often find 
 tender appreciation budding into flower even
 
 A MYSTERY, 
 
 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 da)''s work was over, 
 and Mrs. Preedy, a lonely widow, sat by her- 
 self 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 ano-el " 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, 
 
 1*
 
 GREAT PORTER SQUARE. 
 
 when the sun is the painter, are not remark- 
 able 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 Eoad 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 irri- 
 tant to its mistress ', and a weather indicator, 
 in the shape of an architectural structure re- 
 presenting two rural bowers, in one of which, 
 suspended on catgut, dwelt an old wooden 
 fanner, and in the other, also suspended on
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 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 signifi- 
 cation) 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,
 
 GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 with its useful array of plates and dishes, and 
 pots and pans ; the sideboard, with its obsti- 
 nate 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 pre- 
 tension ; 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 lire, or a cornfield in a fit, or a pig cut
 
 ^i MYSTERY. 
 
 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 bed- 
 chamber, another disclosing a dark cup- 
 board, 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
 
 GREAT POUTER SQUARE 
 
 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
 
 ,1 MYSTERY. 
 
 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 morti- 
 fication 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 sup- 
 posed 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
 
 10 GREAT PORTER SQUARE. 
 
 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. 
 
 "0, 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." 
 
 Jiy one impulse they both looked at the
 
 A MTS1ERY. 11 
 
 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. Preed}^, 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
 
 12 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 come to the station last night and said he 
 done it ; but lie had the delirium trimmings 
 very bad, and we found out this morning that 
 lie 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 } t ou be frightened more than 
 you can help. Til 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 13 
 
 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 conso- 
 lation), 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 appa
 
 H GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 rently 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 walkthrough enchanted 
 streets ? See the waving of the flags ! Listen 
 to the musical murmur of delight and happi- 
 ness! 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 
 ureal ! " : How bright, even in fragrant lanes 
 and sweet-smelling meadows, are the dreams 
 <«f tlic greal city in the minds of the young ! 
 How bewitching the panorama of eager forms 
 moving this way and that, and crossing each
 
 A MYSTERY. 15 
 
 other in restless animation ! Laughter, the 
 sound ef 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 Jaden 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 lav 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
 
 16 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 MYSTERY. 
 
 a public one, her words had found their way 
 into the newspapers in a manner not agreeable 
 or complimentary to her. Indeed, in accord- 
 ance with the new spirit of journalism which 
 is now all the fashion, three or four smarts- 
 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 realty under- 
 stand 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 Preed}" came in for a share of her in- 
 dignation 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. 
 vol. i. 2
 
 18 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 pre- 
 sently her eyes began to close. She nodded 
 and nodded, bringing her nose often in danger- 
 ous 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 IT. 
 
 WHAT WAS PRINTED ON THE QUARTO BILL : A 
 PROCLAMATION BY HER MAJESTY'S GOVERN- 
 MENT. 
 
 HAVE you ever observed and studied the 
 expressions on the faces of the people 
 who congregate before the " Murder " procla- 
 mations 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 facination ? 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 
 
 2*
 
 20 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 news- 
 papers. " They've offered a reward at last," 
 he thinks, with a scornful smile : " they ought 
 to have done it a month a^o. 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 e3 T es, 
 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 21 
 
 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 par- 
 ticulars 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 com- 
 mitted, 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
 
 GREAT POUTER SQUARE. 
 
 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 23 
 
 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 West- 
 minster Bridge, holding all the wav some 
 strong emotion in control. Difficult as it 
 is, he has a perfect master} 7 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 down- 
 wards 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 :
 
 24 GREAT POUTER SQUARE. 
 
 MURDER. 
 
 £100 REWARD. 
 
 'WM/ HE HE AS, en the morning of Thursday, the 10th 
 of July, the Dead Body of a max teas 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 UxKXOWX," the 
 
 above Reward will be paid to any Person (other than a 
 Person belonging to a Police Force in the United Kingdom) 
 ivho shall give such Information as shall lead to the Dis- 
 covery and Conviction of the Murderer or Murderers ; and 
 the Secretary of State for the Home Department will advise 
 the Giant of her Majesty's Gracious 
 
 PARDON 
 
 to any Accomplice not being the Person who actually com- 
 mitted the Murder ivho shall give such evidence as shall 
 lead to a like result. 
 
 Evidence to be given to the Director of Crqninal 
 
 Investigi! o !■-■, Great Scotland Yard, or at any Police 
 station.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 o 
 
 EXTRACTED FROM THE " EVENING MOON/' 
 
 THE Evening Moon was an enterprising 
 little paper, which gave all the news of 
 the clay in a fashion so entertaining that it 
 was a success from its first appearance. Be- 
 tween noOn and night a dozen editions were 
 published, and were hawked about the streets 
 by regiments ol ragged boys and girls (ir- 
 regular infantry), whose vivacity and impu- 
 dence added to the circulation, if they did 
 not to the dignity, of the journal. Beneath 
 the heading of the paper was a representa- 
 tion 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
 
 26 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 coloured in many instances and unwarrant- 
 ably but agreeably spiced with romance, were 
 read with avidity. The Evening Moon of the 
 19 th of August contained the following 
 report of the police-court proceedings in 
 
 D 
 
 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. Keardon. 
 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 MYSTERY. 27 
 
 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 con- 
 stable. 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, con- 
 ducted the inquiry. The interest taken by
 
 28 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 the public in the case is still unabated, and 
 the court — if a close,' abominably-ventilated 
 room fourteen feet square can be so de- 
 nominated — was crowded to excess. 
 
 On the calling of the case, the magistrate 
 inquired if the accused man was still unde- 
 fended, 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
 
 A 3IYSTEEY. 29 
 
 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 pur- 
 pose, 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 be- 
 comes 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 ?
 
 30 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 any think 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 ?
 
 A MYSTERY. 31 
 
 Witness : It'd fix it in yours if you ken' a 
 lodging-house. (Laughter.) 
 
 Mr. White Lush : No doubt. There were 
 other circumstanees, independent of the run- 
 ning away of your lodgers, which serve to fix 
 that nmht 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
 
 32 GREAT POR TER SQUARE : 
 
 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' eves on if.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE EXAMINATION OF MRS. PEEEDY, CONTINUED 
 FROM THE " EVENING MOON." 
 
 "E. WHITE LUSH : You are quite con- 
 fident 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 con- 
 tents of the letter ? 
 
 Witness : It were to inform me that the 
 drorino--rooms had bolted 
 
 Magistrate : Bolted ? 
 
 Witness : Eun 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? 
 vol. i. 3
 
 34 GREAT FOULER SQUARE: 
 
 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 Witness : Kun 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 } t ou, 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 neigh- 
 bour. 
 
 3*
 
 36 GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 Mr. White Lush : To tell her of your mis- 
 fortunes ? 
 
 "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, Xo. 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.
 
 A MYSTERY. 37 
 
 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 ?
 
 38 GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 an}dbody 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.
 
 A MYSTERY. 39 
 
 Mr. White Lush : From what direction ? 
 
 Witness : From the next house, No. 119. 
 
 Mr. White Lush : You heard a scream pro- 
 ceeding 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 say- 
 ing 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
 
 40 
 
 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 herself) : I think I may wenture to say, sir, I 
 did. 
 
 Mr. White Lush : Ah, that is more satis- 
 factory. Now, Mrs. Treedy, 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 sa}^, 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
 
 A MYSTItRY. 41 
 
 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 
 screanl, 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 3-011 have sworn. 
 You sav that vou 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.
 
 42 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 : JSTo, 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 medi-
 
 A MYSTERY. 43 
 
 cine. 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 
 
 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 twent}^ years I couldn't 
 tell }~ou.
 
 U Gil EAT PORTER SQUARE. 
 
 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. (Eoars 
 of laughter.) 
 
 Mr. White Lush : Nonsense, Mrs. Preedy, 
 you do know. 
 
 Witness : Beggin' your pardon, sir, I do 
 not know. I ouidit 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 }^ou 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 lord- 
 ship, 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 } T our heels ?
 
 A MYSTERY. 45 
 
 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 : Hav.e 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
 
 4G Gil EAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 that he saw in the Court three of the con- 
 si aides 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 Trea- 
 sury. 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. 
 
 Xo 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 sav. 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 
 ni^ht ? 
 
 Witness : I can't call to mind that I have.
 
 A MYSTERT. 47 
 
 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 : Xo. 
 
 Mr. Goldberry : Call Constable Dick. 
 (Constable Dick stepped into the box). 
 You have heard the questions I put to the
 
 48 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 : ISTo. 
 
 Mr. Golclberry : Do you know anything of 
 him at the present moment ? 
 
 Witness : No. 
 
 Mr. Goldberrv 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. Gold- 
 berry, 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
 
 .1 MYSTERY. 49 
 
 be exercised by the police. To be poor, as 
 the accused evidently was, was no crime ; to 
 be forlorn and wretched, as the accused ap- 
 peared to be, was no crime ; but the police 
 evidently regarded these misfortunes as proofs 
 of guilt. He applied for the prisoner's dis- 
 charge. 
 
 Mr. White Lush said it was scarcely neces- 
 sary to say a word in defence of the police, 
 who, in the exercise of their arduous duties, 
 generally acted with fair discretion. To dis- 
 charge the prisoner at this stage of the pro- 
 ceedings 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 pro- 
 ceedings, had not uttered a word, was re- 
 manded, and the case was adjourned until this 
 day week. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 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. 
 Rearclon. The court was again crowded, and 
 the prisoner, Antony Cowlrick, was brought 
 in handcuffed. His appearance was, if pos- 
 sible, 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 01 
 
 Magistrate's Court, Mr. Goldberry, who lias 
 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 sup- 
 pressed. 
 
 Mr. Eeardon : I was not prepared for 
 this application. It is my duty to do every- 
 thing 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 occa- 
 sion 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 
 
 4*
 
 52 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 cause and reason — should not be allowed 
 the opportunity of escape; but some protec- 
 tion 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 jus- 
 tice. 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 53 
 
 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 con- 
 tend with. He has not assisted me in the 
 slightest degree. It is no breach of profes- 
 sional 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 him- 
 self 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
 
 54 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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. Goldberrv 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 pri- 
 soner's face, and in the absence of the con- 
 stable 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. Beard on : Am I to understand that if I 
 remand the prisoner until this day week, you 
 will be prepared to bring forward evidence
 
 A MYSTERY. 55 
 
 which will justify not only his present but his 
 past detention ? 
 
 Mr. White Lush : I am informed that such 
 evidence will be forthcoming. 
 
 Mr. Eeardon : Upon that understanding the 
 prisoner is remanded until this day week.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE " EVENING MOON " SPEAKS ITS MIND. 
 
 YESTEKDAY, 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 57 
 
 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 Cowl- 
 rick and the police ; but a brief recapitulation 
 of the circumstances of the murder is neces- 
 sary 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
 
 GREAT POUTER SQUARE. 
 
 .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
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 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 appoint- 
 ment 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,
 
 60 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 she crept clown to her bedroom in the base- 
 ment, 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 man} 7 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 61 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 -#+
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN WHICn 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. Quickfy he 
 caught her to his breast, and, trembling vio- 
 lently, 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,
 
 A MYSTERY. G3 
 
 shaking like a leaf, lie 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 in- 
 capable 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 stair- 
 way, 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 oil'. 
 
 The thought that had been put into words 
 by the man who had rushed out of the hous3 
 now took its place in the minds of those who 
 remained within. There had been murder
 
 C4 G 'RE 'AT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 clone. But who was murdered, and where 
 was the murderer ? 
 
 " That comes," said the violinist to the land- 
 lady, " 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 down- 
 stairs 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, sup- 
 porting a woman, he quickened his steps. 
 
 " What's up ? " demanded the policeman.
 
 A MYSTERY. 66 
 
 "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 encom- 
 passed b}^ the other frightened faces. 
 
 " You're just in time," said the violinist. 
 " There's been murder done." 
 
 " Who's been murdered ?" asked the police- 
 man. 
 
 " 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 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 6G GREAT I- OUTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 dis- 
 covery, 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 theyi 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 dis- 
 covered, no person could be induced to lodge 
 or sleep in the house in which it was com- 
 mitted. The tenants all left without giving 
 notice, and the landlady, prostrated by the
 
 A MYSTERY. 67 
 
 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 undis- 
 puted sway over mind and heart. A shape- 
 less 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 
 
 5*
 
 68 GREAT PORTER SQUARE. 
 
 brother walks ever by the side of the undis- 
 covered murderer ! Never, till justice is 
 satisfied, shall it leave him. As he stole from 
 the spot in which he took the life of a fel- 
 low-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, know- 
 ing 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 69 
 
 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. Eain 
 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
 
 70 GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 promi- 
 nent than it has already become) — a week 
 then after the murder was committed, Police- 
 man 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 sio-ns, and Policeman X at
 
 A MYSTEIiY. 71 
 
 once set himself the task of stealthily follow- 
 ing the man, who walked leisurely towards 
 the house, Xo. 119, in which the murder was 
 committed. The house was deserted and un- 
 tenanted, 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 Police- 
 man 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 com- 
 pleted the circuit of the Square, and for the
 
 72 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 ! "
 
 A MYSTERY. 73 
 
 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
 
 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 tempta- 
 tion. We adhere to our programme ; stern 
 Reality — pictures of life as they naturally
 
 .1 MYSTERY. 75 
 
 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 
 Keality. 
 
 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
 
 76 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 Cowl- 
 rick 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 mat- 
 ters. 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
 
 ,1 MYSTERY. 77 
 
 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 Police- 
 man 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
 
 73 Gil EAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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
 
 .1 MYSTERY. 7'J 
 
 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. 
 
 " You know best whether you did it," ob- 
 served Policeman X. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " I know best." 
 
 " What were }-ou 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
 
 80 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 con- 
 stables 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 him- 
 self ? 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 !
 
 A MYSTERY. 81 
 
 " 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 rasped, 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 addi- 
 
 tional confirmation of guilt. The web was 
 
 closing round him, and he was assisting to 
 
 vol. i. 6
 
 82 GREAT PORTER SQUARE; 
 
 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." 
 
 ISTo 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.
 
 A MYSTERY. S3 
 
 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 
 
 J «/ 
 
 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 ivas found guilty ; all that was 
 needed was to fix the day, and prepare the 
 scaffold. Eumours, 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 
 
 6*
 
 81 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 con- 
 tumely. Yesterday he was brought before 
 Mr. Eeardon, 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. 
 Goldberg, 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
 
 A MYSTERY. . 85 
 
 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
 
 86 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 circumstances, strange and startling coinci- 
 dences 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 — re- 
 leased, 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 anony- 
 mous 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 con- 
 solation ! A pardon for a crime they did not
 
 A MYSTERY. S7 
 
 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 appli- 
 cation 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 Yin. 
 
 THE " EVENING MOON " POSTPONES ITS STATE- 
 MENT 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 Is. 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 89 
 
 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 
 Eeformed Detective " sends 8d. ; " A Poor Old 
 Moke " sends 2d. ; the Secretary of a " Mutual 
 .Protection Society for the Education of 
 Burglars' Children" sends 5s.; "M.P.," who 
 intends to ask a question when the House 
 meets, sends £3 3s. ; and sundry others. The 
 total amount now in our hands is £23 4s. 7d., 
 which we hold at the disposal of Antony 
 Cowlrick, who, despite his apparent poverty, 
 has not thought fit to call at our office to 
 claim it. 
 
 S-* V. 2*2L :* ^
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN WHICH THE " EVENING MOON " KELATES THE 
 ADVENTURES OF ITS SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT. 
 
 'E have now to place before our readers 
 an account of our proceedings respect- 
 ing 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 throw- 
 ing light upon the circumstances surroundimr 
 this mysterious murder. Fully conscious as
 
 A MYSTERY. 91 
 
 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-win- 
 dows — and that they are stared at and pointed 
 at in the theatres and other places of public 
 resort. The greater number of these poor crea- 
 tures see no distinction between the terms noto- 
 riety and celebrity ; notorious, shamefully noto- 
 rious — they certainly are ; worthily celebrated 
 they can never become, let them pose as they
 
 92 GREAT PORTER SQUARE. 
 
 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 promin- 
 ently 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 dut}^, 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 Cowl- 
 rick, 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 93 
 
 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 por- 
 tray, 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
 
 U GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 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. Gold- 
 berry, 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 respect- 
 able life — had a reasonable explanation been
 
 A MYSTERY. 95 
 
 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 
 lino-ered, 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
 
 96 GREAT PORTER SQUARE; 
 
 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 chil- 
 dren congregated in Martin Street. As though 
 animated by one magical impulse the} r 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,
 
 .1 MYSTERY. 97 
 
 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 excite- 
 ment 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 threaten- 
 ingly, 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 
 Eeporter ; " this man has done nothing." 
 
 The policeman immediately prepared to 
 take our Eeporter into custody for obstructing 
 vol. i. 7
 
 98 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 him in the exercise of his duty, but he was 
 baulked by the appearance of two other police- 
 men 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 bj particularly friendly feelings 
 towards Antony Cowlrick ; but if he belonged 
 to airybody 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 99 
 
 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 

 
 100 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 
 Eeporter ; 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 101 
 
 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 
 Eeporter, Mr. Goldberry, and Antony Cowl- 
 rick, 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
 
 102 GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 thorough- 
 fare in London — the Haymarket — wherein 
 vice in its most shameless and degrading as- 
 pects 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 gentle- 
 man 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,
 
 A MYSTERY. 103 
 
 you see ; and, after all, I may be guilty of 
 the murder." 
 
 " I do not think you are," said Mr. Gold- 
 berry. 
 
 " It is scarcely worth arguing about," re- 
 marked. Antony Cowlrick. " He is not the 
 first, and. will not be the last." 
 
 "He! Who?" quickly asked Mr. Gold- 
 berry. 
 
 " The man who was murdered in Great 
 Porter Square." 
 
 " Do you know anything of him ? ' 
 
 " What should 1 know ? Some interesting- 
 particulars concerning him will no doubt one 
 da}^ 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 ? "
 
 104 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 " 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 3*011 civilly, as it is barely 
 possible, when 3*011 rose in the police-court to 
 defend me, that you were in part animated b3* 
 a kindly sentiment for an unfortunate man. 
 On the other hand, 3*011 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 3*011." 
 
 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 3*011?" he 
 asked.
 
 A MYSTERY. 105 
 
 " Nothing more." 
 
 Mr. Goldberry, before lie 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 Moony 
 
 " 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 thai: 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
 
 106 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 our Eeporter and Mr. Goldberry escaped the 
 ears, but not the eyes, of Antony Cowlrick, and 
 when Mr. Goldberry left and our Eeporter re- 
 mained, he was the first to speak. 
 
 " Has the lawyer deputed you to watch 
 me ? " 
 
 " Xo," replied our Eeporter. " 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 Magis- 
 trate's Court. 
 
 " You guess right. The murder committed 
 in Great Eorter 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."
 
 A MYSVEIIY. 107 
 
 Antony Cowlrick took the packet of papers 
 which our Eeporter had prepared in anticipa- 
 tion 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 Eeporter, 
 " 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.
 
 108 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 I would not touch it, though I am really in 
 want of a meal. I suppose, if } t ou 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 3 r ou," 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 10i> 
 
 I belie my looks, and that I do not speak 
 exactly like a ruffian. In all that, shrewd as 
 yon may be, yon 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-nisht ? " 
 
 " God knows ! I do not." 
 
 " How are you 2foin2f to live ? Have vou 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 Eeporter, the woman who had 
 been knocked about by the crowd rose from 
 the doorstep. 
 
 Our Eeporter felt a nervous twitching 
 in the hand he held, and, looking up into 
 the face of Antony Cowlrick, saw with sur- 
 prise that it was agitated by a sudden and 
 powerful emotion. Antony Cowlrick's eyes
 
 110 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 were fixed upon the woman, who was walking 
 slowly away. 
 
 She was young and fair, and in her move- 
 ments 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 
 Eeporter 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 care- 
 lessly at him, and, averting her eyes with a
 
 A 31YSTEBY. Ill 
 
 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 e)-es 
 at the same time towards the spot occuj)ied by 
 our Eeporter. 
 
 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
 
 112 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 Eeporter. 
 
 " I have found a friend," he said. 
 
 " So I perceive," replied our Eeporter. 
 
 " You offered awhile ago to lend me a 
 sovereign. I refused to accept it. Will you 
 lend it me now ? " 
 
 Our Eeporter gave it to him instantly, 
 without a word. 
 
 The swift graciousness of the response
 
 A MYSTERY. 115 
 
 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 ap- 
 peared 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 
 vol. i. 8
 
 lit GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 ex-
 
 A MYSTERY. 115 
 
 changing a few words with her, returned to 
 our Eeporter. 
 
 "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 Eeporter'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 Eeporter 
 paused before the door of the house in which 
 he expected to find Antony Cowlrick, and 
 debated with himself whether he should in- 
 quire 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 
 
 8*
 
 116 GllEAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 disagreeable curiosity of prying eyes and 
 vulgar tongues, and that in a new lodging he 
 
 DO* O <D 
 
 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 Eeporter fell into deep disgrace 
 by pulling them one after another, and bring- 
 ing 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, " 0, 
 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 re- 
 buke 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 117 
 
 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 Eeporter, having 
 no alternative, inquired of a woman in the 
 house whether a person of the name of Cowl- 
 rick was within. The woman looked suspi- 
 ciously at our Eeporter, and said she 
 would call " her man/' Her man came, 
 and our Eeporter 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
 
 118 GREAT POR'lER SQUARE: 
 
 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 an}' 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 con- 
 ferred upon them and upon their heirs and 
 assigns an inalienable right in the corners of 
 every street and lane in the restless Baby- 
 lonian City. 
 
 Our Reporter made the rounds of these 
 public-houses, ordered liquor in every one
 
 ,1 MYSTERY. 119 
 
 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 Eeporter, " 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 
 Eeporter 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
 
 120 GREAT PORTER SQUARE. 
 
 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 Eeporter. 
 " Will yer pull the blue bell, and knock 
 five times ? I can't reach." 
 
 -*^<!ii3kik)Hh
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE SPECIAL REPORTER OF THE " EVENING MOON " 
 MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A LITTLE 
 MATCH GIRL. 
 
 PULL the blue bell, and knock live 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 look- 
 ing ! It's all by itself on the other side." 
 
 Our Reporter found the bell, " all by itself,"
 
 122 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 pro- 
 ceeded from the throat of a canary. "Yer 
 must knock like a postman, and a little 'un 
 in — rat-tat, rat-tat, tat ! " 
 
 Our Eeportor 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, "Xo, 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 ! "
 
 A MYSTERY. 123 
 
 The little girl did not reply. She was lean- 
 ing against the door-post in a state of perfect 
 contentment. The particular house with 
 which our Eeporter 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 Eeporter, 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 hunsr 
 in thick knots over her forehead ; her hands 
 were begrimed ; her clothes were rao-s ; 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,
 
 124 GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 and, though they had once been satin, they 
 were fit only for the rag-bag or the dust- 
 hole. 
 
 " Poor child ! " sighed our Eeporter. " It 
 is eas}^ 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 indistinctlv 
 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.
 
 A MYSTERY. 125 
 
 " 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
 
 12G GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 Eeporter, 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 '11 think I've run off with some- 
 body." 
 
 She entered the house, and our Eeporter, 
 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 127 
 
 were in utter darkness, and. he had to exercise 
 great care to save his shins and to avoid dis- 
 turbing 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 still- 
 ness of the room affected him. His position 
 was certainly a perplexing one. He listened 
 for the breathing of some person, but heard 
 none. 
 
 " Antonv Cowlrick," he thought, "have 
 you been playing me a trick P " 
 
 He struck another match, and lit a candle 
 which was on a small table. Then he looked 
 around. The room was empty. 
 
 " JNTow," thought our Eeporter, " if this is
 
 6 RE AT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 not the room in which Antony Cowlrick led 
 me to expect he would receive me, and the 
 tenant proper himself or herself, should sud- 
 denly appear, I shall scarcely be prepared 
 to offer a reasonable excuse for my intrusion." 
 No articles of clothing;- were in sight to en- 
 lighten 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 Eothschild," mused our 
 Eeporter, " but quite as happy perhaps." 
 
 For our Eeporter 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 Pieporter 
 was not long before he made an important 
 discovery. Exactly in front of the slice of
 
 ,4 MYSTERY. 129 
 
 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 
 vol. i. 9
 
 130 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 the landlady — who would read the message 
 aloud to her, and would look on the mantel- 
 shelf. 
 
 Why should not our Eeporter 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 con- 
 tained money. 
 
 One was addressed " For Fanny." It 
 contained a shilling. On the other was 
 written: "Mrs. Eogers, 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 apart- 
 ment. This room had been occupied by 
 Antony Cowlrick's fair friend, and the en- 
 closure was for our Eeporter. 
 
 He took it out ; it was a sealed letter. He
 
 ,1 MYSTERY. 131 
 
 opened it, and read, as a sovereign fell to the 
 floor : — 
 
 " Sir, — I am enabled thus soon to repay 
 you the sovereign }^ou 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 Cowlmck." 
 
 The handwriting was that of an educated 
 man, and the mystery surrounding Antony 
 Cowlrick was deepened by the last pro- 
 ceeding. 
 
 9*
 
 132 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 A voice from the bed aroused our Re- 
 porter 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 
 
 O GO ' 
 
 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. 
 
 Famry (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 ?
 
 A MYSTERY. 133 
 
 Fanny : Lor ! No. She ain't nothink to 
 me but a a 
 
 Our Eeporter (prompting, seeing that 
 Fanny was in a difficulty) : Friend ? 
 
 Fanny : More nor that. A brick ! 
 
 Our Eeporter : She is good to you ? 
 
 Fanny : There ain't nobody like her. 
 
 Our Eeporter : What are }^ou ? 
 
 Fanny (laughing) : Wot am I ? A gal. 
 
 Our Eeporter : Do }'OU go to school ? 
 
 Fanny (with a cunning shake of her head) : 
 Ketch me at it ! 
 
 Our Eeporter : 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 Eeporter : 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 Eeporter : Why do you fall asleep 
 there ? 
 
 Fanny (with a sad, wistful smile) : That's 
 mother's little game. She makes me.
 
 Ui GREA'l PORTER SQUARE. 
 
 Our Eeporter : Mother's little game ! Then 
 you have a mother ? 
 
 Fanny (shuddering) : Eaythur. 
 
 Our Eeporter : Where does she live ? 
 
 Fanny : At the .pub round the corner, 
 mostly — the Good Sir Mary Tun — till they 
 turns her out. 
 
 Our Eeporter : 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 135 
 
 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' save 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 Eeporter : Is your mother near you all 
 the while, Fanny, that she comes and takes 
 the monej'' 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 Eeporter : Does she beat you ? 
 
 Fanny : Does she miss a chance ? 
 
 The child hitches her shoulder out of her
 
 136 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 : 0, 1 '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 Hushed 
 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 157 
 
 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 Eeporter : It is a fine place, Fanny. 
 So you have larks with the boys ? 
 
 Fanny : Yes. We goes to the play on the 
 sty. '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 alius a lady's 
 man, wosn't I, Fan?' : (And he is, a regular 
 one !) "I've got three young women to nry
 
 138 GREAT PORTER SQUARE 
 
 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 Prin- 
 cesses — 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 
 <2'oes on awful. I never seed one so bad as 
 that ! When the play's over Bob takes us 
 to a pub' 
 
 Our Eeporter (shocked) : Fanny ! 
 
 Fanny : Wot's the matter ? 
 
 Our Pieporter : 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 ^als too. I was
 
 A MYSTERY. 139 
 
 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 '11 teach yer," she 
 said, " to leave your pore mother with a throat 
 as dry as a salt 'erring, while you go galli- 
 vantin' about with a parcel of boys ! ' ! I didn't 
 mind ; it was worth the wollopin'. 
 
 Our Eeporter: Now, let us talk about 
 Blanche. 
 
 Fanny : Yes. 'Ow late she is to-night ! 
 
 Oar Eeporter : Have you known her long, 
 Fanny ? 
 
 Fanny : Ever since she's bin 'ere. 
 
 Our Eeporter : 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 Eeporter : Does she work ?
 
 140 Gil EAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 Fanny : I never seed 'er. She don't do 
 nothink. 
 
 Our Eeporter : And no one comes to see 
 her? 
 
 Fanny : Not as I knows on. Look 'ere ! 
 Yon don't want to 'nrt 'er, do you ? " 
 
 Our Eeporter : 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 Eeporter : 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 Eeporter : Listen. (He reads.) "Dear 
 little Fanny. Good bye. If ever I am rich I 
 will try and find you. Look on the mantel- 
 shelf." You were asleep, Fanny, and I looked 
 on the mantel shelf. This was there for you. 
 (He gives her the shilling.)
 
 A MYSTERY. ill 
 
 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 Eeporter (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 Eeporter 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. 

 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE " EVENING MOON " FOE A TIME TAKES LEAVE 
 OE THE CASE OE ANTONY COWLRICK. 
 
 TE 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 admira-
 
 A MYSTERY. 143 
 
 tion 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 deter- 
 mined to keep their eye on him. He has proved 
 himself more than their match. The descrip- 
 tion 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 cir- 
 cumstance of his having been unshaved for 
 weeks, render it difficult to describe his fea- 
 tures ; all that can be said on this point is
 
 144 GREAT PORTER SQUAIiL: 
 
 that his face was haggard and distressed, and 
 
 Do 
 
 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 Ee- 
 porter — the prompt repayment of the sove- 
 reign 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 cir- 
 cumstance combined are the concluding words 
 of his letter to our Special Eeporter. " 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
 
 .1 MYSTERY. 143 
 
 contained a full list of subscriptions sent to our 
 office for him, the total amount being £68 17s. 
 It is a sum worth having, and might be 
 supposed to be especially acceptable to a man 
 in Antony Cowlrick's apparently destitute. 
 condition — a man upon whose person, when 
 he was arrested, was found some stale bread 
 and cheese, and not a penny of money. In 
 the face of this evidence of poverty, Antony 
 Cowlrick has not called for the handsome sum 
 we hold in trust for him, and has instructed us 
 to give it to the poor. We shall do so in a 
 week from this date, unless Antony Cowlrick 
 presents himself at our office to receive it ; or 
 unless those who have subscribed object. We 
 trust they will not withdraw their subscrip- 
 tions, 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 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 GREAT PORTER SQUARE. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 rH^
 
 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 gro- 
 tesque 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 
 
 10*
 
 148 GB EAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 com- 
 mitted 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 alto- 
 gether, 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,
 
 A MYSTERY. 149 
 
 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 beins; 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
 
 150 GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 sleet), 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 151 
 
 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, 
 deadlv effect. He left nothing to chance. 
 And Mrs. Preedy was to be his next victim.
 
 152 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 ?
 
 A MYSTERY. 133 
 
 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.
 
 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 Eichard Manx, who had been 
 her tenant for exactly three weeks, and was
 
 A MYSTERY. 155 
 
 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 e} T es 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 
 nationalitv. 
 
 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 —
 
 156 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 sometliink he is in want of, and ain't got 
 money to pay for. And liis 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 e} r es 
 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 Avere absolute strangers to 
 each other (a striking illustration of English 
 manners^ swung in and out, in and out,
 
 A MYSTERY. 157 
 
 predicting fair weather foul weather, fair 
 weather foul weather, with the most reck- 
 less 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 at we en 'im 
 and Beck}^ ?" 
 
 This dark suspicion recommended itself to 
 her mind, and she readily gave it admittance. 
 It is to be feared that Mrs. Preedy's ex- 
 periences had not led her to a charitable 
 opinion of maids-of-all-work. Becky, as Mrs. 
 Preedy called hex servant, was a new girl,
 
 158 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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. 
 
 Eichard Manx's eyes followed hers. 
 
 " It is — a — what you call wrong," he mut- 
 tered. 
 
 "Very wrong," said Mrs. Preed}-, 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."
 
 A MYSTERY. 159 
 
 " I was — a— thinking of your watch-clock," 
 said Eichard 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," re- 
 torted 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 wee- 
 zard." 
 
 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 ton<me.
 
 160 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 vicinhVv, 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. 
 
 Eichard 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 un- 
 reasonable. Certainly there was in the room 
 nothing superfluous. There were a truckle 
 bed, with a few worn-out bed clothes, a
 
 A 31 Y ST FRY. lfil 
 
 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 Eichard 
 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 pa} r your rent,' 
 demanded Mrs. Preedy, " what 'ave you come 
 for ? " 
 
 Eichard 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 
 vol. i. 11
 
 162 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 from her cliair, 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 3*011 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 163 
 
 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 Kichard 
 Manx to start back with the manner of a man 
 upon whom divine vengeance had suddenly 
 
 11*
 
 161 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 Eichard 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,
 
 A MYSTERY. 165 
 
 with hands so" — (clasping his hands together, 
 somewhat tragically) — " beg of me not to any 
 speak i of what I hear. I consent ; I say, I 
 will not of it speak." 
 
 " And yon '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. Preedv 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, Eichard Manx drew 
 nearer to Mrs. Preed} r , and she also moved
 
 166 GREAT PORTER SQUARE. 
 
 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. 
 
 ^N" the following evening, Beck) T , 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
 
 1C8 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 remark makes you wonder a little ; but you 
 would wonder more if you had seen me when 
 I asked for } T our 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 
 
 CD ' 
 
 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 ! 0, 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 109 
 
 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
 
 170 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 diffe- 
 rently — 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 in- 
 volved. He endures dreadful hardships, suffers 
 imprisonment and cruel indignities, and travels 
 hundreds and hundreds of miles, in his endea- 
 vour (o unravel the mystery which affects his 
 peace and mine — his future and mine — his 
 honour and mine ! And here am I, with
 
 A MYSTERY. 171 
 
 nothing to do, living close to the very spot 
 where the fearfnl 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 deter- 
 mined 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 activelv 
 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.
 
 172 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 
 m} T 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 17.-] 
 
 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 ligdit 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 vege- 
 tables.
 
 174 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 " Didn't you find it ? " asked the woman. 
 
 " 0, 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 for- 
 gotten 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. " / 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 deli- 
 cate." 
 
 "Don't you go by looks," 1 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. 
 Freed}-, lodging-house keeper, my present 
 mistress. She tried to see my face, but the 
 night was too dark.
 
 176 Git EAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 " Wait a minute," she said ; " stand where 
 3'ou 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 
 } T ou a London girl ? " 
 
 " No, I come from the countr} r ." 
 
 " What made you leave the country ? ' :
 
 A MYSTERY. 177 
 
 I cast clown my eyes. " I had a quarrel 
 with my young man." 
 
 Just reflect for a moment, m}^ dear, upon 
 my boldness ! 
 
 " It ain't the thing to take a girl without a 
 character," said Mrs. Preedy. 
 
 Upon this I delivered a master-stroke. 
 
 " You can consider it in the wages," I said. 
 
 It had an effect upon the woman. " How 
 much do you expect ? " she asked. 
 
 " I'm not particular," I answered ; " all I 
 want is a comfortable home." 
 
 There were plenty more questions and 
 answers. Mrs. Preedy must have been in a 
 desperate plight for a domestic, or I should 
 have stood a poor chance of being engaged ; 
 but engaged I was at £8 a year, " all found," 
 and I commenced my new life at once by fol- 
 lowing my mistress into the kitchen, and 
 washing up the plates and dishes, and clean- 
 ing 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 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 GREAT POKIER SQUARE: 
 
 you'll do. Mind ! I make mv girls pay for all 
 they break ! " 
 
 I can't help laughing when I think of her 
 words. Beckoning up the things I have 
 already let slip — (they will do it ; I can't pre- 
 vent them ; really I believe they are alive)— 
 I have arrived at the conclusion that the 
 whole of my first month's wages will be pre- 
 sented to me in broken crockery. My cheer- 
 fulness over mv 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 pos- 
 session of my very small bedroom, and, un- 
 packing 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. 
 Preedv 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.
 
 A MYSTERY. 179 
 
 So behold me fairly launched on ruy adven- 
 ture. 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. Preedv 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. Preedv 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
 
 180 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 
 dime ult 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 
 
 O CD 
 
 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 181 
 
 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 harle- 
 quin 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
 
 182 GREAT PORTER SQUARE. 
 
 asleep. If you think I have nothing to say 
 which has the slightest bearing upon the 
 murder, } T ou 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. Eeceive 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 XYI. 
 
 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,
 
 184 GREAT PORTER SQUARE 
 
 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."
 
 A Ml SI Ell Y. JS5 
 
 " 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 ISTo. 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."
 
 186 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 "Would you, Becky? Would you — 
 eh ? " 
 
 "Certainly," I replied. "I wouldn't run 
 the chance of being taken from my comfort- 
 able 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, Beck}*, eh ? ' 
 
 " Ah ! ' said I, " it is a good job you kept 
 it to vourself. The detectives, and the magis-
 
 A MYSTERY. 187 
 
 trates, 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 every- 
 thing 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. 
 
 "Xot 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
 
 183 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 softly — and between whiles there was talk 
 going- on. One said, ' Yon won't, won't yon ? ' 
 And the other said, ' No — not if I die for it !' 
 Then there was the sound of a blow — 0, Becky ! 
 it made me tremble all over. And then came 
 the scream that Mrs. Preedy heard. And 
 almost directfy afterwards, the piano pla}^ed 
 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 cer- 
 tainly no compassion, would have shocked 
 you — as it did me ; but I suppressed my 
 emotion. 
 
 There is something of still Q-reater im- 
 portance to be told before I bring the story
 
 A MYSTERY. 189 
 
 of my adventure to the present clay. 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 ser- 
 vice 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 ob- 
 served ; "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."
 
 190 GREAT PORTER SQUARE ; 
 
 When I saw the man, who gives himself out 
 as Kichard Manx, I liked the looks of him as 
 little as my mistress. He is dark-complex- 
 ioned, 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, with- 
 out 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 101 
 
 justice to say that lie 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 incon- 
 sistency, and call me a bundle of contradic- 
 tions. 
 
 I have made up my mind no longer to 
 avoid Eichard Manx ; I have made up my 
 mind to worm myself, if I can, in his confi- 
 dence ; I have made up my mind not to lose 
 sight of him, unless, indeed, he suddenly dis- 
 appears from the house iand the neighbour- 
 hood, 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 Eichard 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 !
 
 192 GREAT POUTER SQUARE. 
 
 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 stead- 
 fast love, 
 
 Becky. 
 
 
 G> V"«x»v ^i
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IN WHICH BECKY, CONTINUING HER LETTER, RE- 
 LATES 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, drink- 
 ing her regular allowance of gin and water. 
 1 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 
 vol. i. 13
 
 194 GEE AT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 reading an account of the police-court pro- 
 ceedings in which you were so cruelly impli- 
 cated. There was nothing interesting in this 
 picture of Mrs. Preedy, and I crept into bed 
 a^ain. 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 19£ 
 
 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 Eichard 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. 
 
 Eichard 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 Eichard 
 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 
 
 13*
 
 196 OB EAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 dis- 
 covery. 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.
 
 A MYSTERY. 197 
 
 Eight nights ago, Eichard 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 com- 
 mitted. Being, according to his own declara- 
 tion, 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. 
 
 Eichard Manx wavers, and promises her 
 not to speak to the neighbours of his dis- 
 tressing 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 ma}^ not be 
 real) he creeps downstairs to Mrs. Preedy to 
 inform her of it. He says the noise may not
 
 198 GEE AT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 empt}^ 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, con- 
 fiding., humble ; but when Mrs. Preedy turned 
 towards the dresser for the sugar basin, there
 
 A MYSTERY. 199 
 
 stole into his face the expression I have re- 
 ferred to. What did it denote ? Cunning, 
 ferocity, triumph, duplicity. It wf.3 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 su^ar 
 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
 
 200 GREAT PO 111 Ell SQUARE: 
 
 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. 
 
 Eichard 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. Baile} 7 , 
 our old lady lodger on the first floor. If any- 
 thing 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 ? "
 
 A MYSTERY. 201 
 
 a 
 
 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 were 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 yon ? " 
 
 " Not that I can remember," replied the old 
 
 lady. 
 
 " Mrs. Bailev," I said, " since the night of 
 the murder you have not heard anything 
 going on next door ? ' ; 
 
 " Not a sound, Beckv. It's been as still as 
 a mouse." 
 
 " As a mouse," I repeated; " ah, but mice 
 scratch at walls sometimes."
 
 202 GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 " So tliey 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 dis- 
 turbed." 
 
 " Only my side, Beck}-- ; nothing else." 
 
 This conversation convinced me that 
 Richard Manx had not heard any such sound 
 as he stated. What was his purpose in en- 
 deavouring to deceive Mrs. Preedy ? 
 
 The same day I was sent out to the green- 
 grocer's, and the woman said to me that she
 
 A MYSTERY. 203 
 
 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, JSTos. 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-dav I have observed
 
 204 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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, sympa- 
 thetically. 
 
 " Why, Becky," she exclaimed, " have you 
 heard what they are saying about the house ? " 
 
 " 0, yes," I said, " everybody says its 
 haunted." 
 
 " Do you believe it, Beck}^ ? " 
 
 " 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, ex- 
 citedly ; " that's it, Who should know better 
 than us ? And I'm sure I've never seen any- 
 thing nor heard anything. Nor you either, 
 Becky." 
 
 "Nor me, neither," I replied. "But the
 
 A MYSTERY. 205 
 
 worst of it is, mum, mud sticks. Give a dog 
 a bad name, and you may as well hang liim 
 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 vou who is the cause of all 
 this ? Eichard 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 Eichard 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 Eichard 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. Eichard Manx may conceal 
 his for a guilty one. Then think of me, known
 
 
 206 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 simply as Beck}*. Why, my dearest, the world 
 is a perfect medley ! Shall I tell 3*011 some- 
 thing else about him? My dear, he paints. 
 I hear you, in your unsophisticated innocence, 
 exclaim, " 0, 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 I ' 
 
 Twice have I seen Kichard 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, Eichard 
 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.
 
 A MYSTERY. 207 
 
 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 judg- 
 ment, 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 Eichard 
 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
 
 208 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 in and the next house are haunted. It is part 
 of his design. To bring the houses into dis- 
 repute 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 lie 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 209 
 
 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, scorn- 
 fully. " 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. 
 
 vol. t. 11
 
 210 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 " 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 }^ou 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 /wasn't born with a silver spoon 
 in mv mouth."
 
 ,1 MYSTERY. 211 
 
 "All," 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 some- 
 times 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 writhin 
 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. 
 
 14*
 
 212 GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 " 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 ser- 
 vant all my life," I said. " But never mind 
 me. Do ycu feel easier ? " 
 
 " I am another woman, dear," she replied. 
 " dear, 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. 
 
 " dear, 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 213 
 
 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 Kichard 
 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 sit- 
 ting by her side, animated by genuine sym- 
 pathy 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.
 
 214 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 " 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."
 
 A MYSTERY. 215 
 
 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 pit} 7 for a poor, deserted old woman ! " 
 
 I acted upon her suggestion. I locked her 
 
 in and went Where ? Upstairs or down ? 
 
 Up, to Eichard Manx's room. 
 
 I reached his door and listened. JSTo 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,
 
 21G GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 un- 
 locked her door. I had really not been 
 absent for more than five minutes, but she
 
 A MYSTERY. 211 
 
 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.
 
 218 GREAT POUTER SQUARE. 
 
 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. 
 
 -^tlP':^-
 
 CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 THE " EVENING MOON " RE-OPENS THE SUBJECT OF 
 THE GREAT PORTER SQUARE MURDER, AND 
 RELATES A ROMANTIC STORY CONCERNLNG 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 
 foi'ce of their lunos : — 
 
 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
 
 220 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 in- 
 teresting information relating to him which 
 without doubt will be eagerly read. For this 
 information we are again indebted to the 
 Special Keporter, 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 unsatis- 
 factory features. The first and most important 
 is that the murderer was undiscovered. Un- 
 happily 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. AYe do not
 
 A MYSTERY. 221 
 
 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 des- 
 cription, 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 gentle- 
 man 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
 
 222 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 dissi- 
 pation 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,
 
 A MYSTERY. 223 
 
 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 mar- 
 ried 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 
 Eoyal 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 specu-
 
 224 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 lators ; 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 Eoyal 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 safety 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 hus- 
 band. It is difficult for us to appropriately 
 describe her modesty and innocent confidence 
 in the interview between her and our Ee- 
 porter. It is not that she is beautiful, and
 
 A MYSTERY. 221 
 
 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. Ascer- 
 taining the nature of her mission, Mr. Hold- 
 fast 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 repre- 
 sented 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 
 vol. i. 15
 
 22G GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 clerk departed, with the bonds in his pos- 
 session, and was absent longer than he was 
 expected to be. At length he returned, and 
 requested a private interview with his em- 
 ployer. 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."
 
 A MYSTERY. 227 
 
 " Why ? " inquired Mr. Holdfast. 
 
 " Because," said the broker, " they are 
 forgeries." 
 
 "■ Then I am ruined ! " cried the young lady. 
 
 «^ T o," 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 ladv 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 imper- 
 tinent 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 ; 
 
 15*
 
 228 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 " I wished to discharge a few trifling debts." 
 Her lips trembled, and her eyes were filled 
 with tears. 
 
 "And— asking you to pardon my presump- 
 tion — your purse is not too heavily 
 weighted." 
 
 " I have just," said the young lady, pro- 
 ducing her purse, and opening it, " three 
 shillings and sixpence to live upon." 
 
 Now, although this was a serious declara- 
 tion, 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."
 
 A MYSTERY. 229 
 
 "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 countrv. 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
 
 230 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 unen- 
 durable, but she was compelled to suffer in 
 silence. A small allowance for pocket money 
 was sent to her by her guardian, and the best
 
 .1 MYSTERY. 231 
 
 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 
 Eeporter. 
 
 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 dread- 
 ful 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 saving 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 con- 
 tained 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
 
 232 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 
 loin? 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 rail- 
 way 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 con- 
 sidered herself as rich as a princess.
 
 A MYSTERY. 233 
 
 " But even this money," said Mr. Holdfast 
 to her, " would not last for ever/' 
 
 " 0, 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. Hold- 
 fast, 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."
 
 231 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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. Any- 
 thing in preference to that; poverty, priva- 
 tion, 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 sove-
 
 A MYSTERY. 2?5 
 
 reigns in "old. Here thev 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 
 generosit}^ 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, T must do that," she said,
 
 23G GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 :
 
 A MYSTERY. 237 
 
 " 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
 
 2:58 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 inno- 
 cence, simplicity and kindness.
 
 A MYSTERY. 239 
 
 " 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. " Y"ou 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 there- 
 after 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, con-
 
 210 GREAT PORTER SQUARE 
 
 fiding 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 con- 
 tract. 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.
 
 A MYSTERY. 241 
 
 " 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 }^ou do not 
 understand my character ? " 
 
 " No ; I do understand it, and if you were 
 poor like me, or I were rich like 3 7 ou — But 
 vol. r. 1G
 
 2i2 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 re- 
 proach myself with. Then I should not be 
 made to suffer from the remarks of envious 
 people that I tricked 3*011 into a marriage with 
 a penniless, friendless girl ! ' : 
 
 "As God is my judge," he cried, " } t ou 
 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 243 
 
 say you will marry me, or I "will never more 
 'believe in woman's truth.." 
 
 His impetuosity carried the clay — 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 be- 
 came 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. 
 
 ,(? s*sr2s\ <•) 
 
 w
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 THE " EVENING MOON " CONTINUES ITS ACCOUNT 
 OF THE TRAGEDY, AND DESCRIBES THE 
 SHAMEFUL PART ENACTED BY MR. FREDERICK 
 HOLDFAST IN HIS FATHERS HOUSE. 
 
 WHEX a man of Mr. Holdfast's age and 
 wealth marries, for love, a lady thirty 
 years younger than himself, his friends gene- 
 rally regard him with pity, and predict that 
 the day must arrive when he will awake from 
 his infatuated dream. ' ; Warm-blooded Mav 
 and cold-blooded December," say Mrs. Grundy 
 and her family ; " what can be expected ? ' : 
 Thev 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
 
 .1 MYSTERY. 245 
 
 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 feel- 
 ing, 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
 
 246 GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 commencement been conducted to so foul and 
 tragic an end? 
 
 Reference lias 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 mar- 
 riage, 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 24 7 
 
 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 
 Eeporter)— " 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
 
 248 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 wicked- 
 ness in the son of a man so noble as my dear 
 lost husband ? Alas ! I have lived to discover 
 that nry 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 ac- 
 company 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,
 
 A MYSTERY. 249 
 
 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 alread} T , and he has always pro- 
 mised 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
 
 2 5 ) GREA T POUTER S Q UA RE : 
 
 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 inter- 
 view 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 251 
 
 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 riiffht, and not feel tired. Mr. 
 Holdfast did not dance, but he had no objec- 
 tion to my enjoying myself in this way. On 
 the contrary, he encouraged it. He would sit
 
 2.-, 3 
 
 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 1 one's mother — do you believe there 
 is ? — even if your mother is younger than 
 yourself ! If / were a young man, / 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 253 
 
 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 amia- 
 bilitv, ' 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 enj'03-ed 
 together. Three hours later, nry guests began 
 to arrive. "While I was dressino", one of mv
 
 2U GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 ? 0, 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 narra- 
 tive, and relates what followed in his own 
 words. The beautiful widow was overcome 
 by shame at the revelation she had to make,
 
 A MYSTERY, 
 
 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 her- 
 self. A gentleman asked her to dance, and 
 she handed him her card. 
 
 " How annoying ! ' he exclaimed. " You 
 are engaged for every waltz." 
 
 "Ko," 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 pro- 
 mised him two, and he has appropriated six ! " 
 
 " In that case," observed the gentleman, 
 " as you are much too precious to be monopo- 
 lised, I may take the liberty of erasing Mr. 
 Frederick Holdfast's name from one waltz at 
 least, and writing my own in its place."
 
 256 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Holdfast, " I will promise 
 you one." 
 
 Just as the o-entleman had made the altera- 
 tion 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, offerim? 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.
 
 A MYSTERY. 257 
 
 " Frederick is a changed man," she said to 
 her husband, when he came from the whist to 
 inquire how she was enjoying herelf ; " 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 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 charm- 
 ing hostess, formed the sum of general happi- 
 ness. The ball was spoken of as the most 
 successful of the season. In an interval 
 between the dances Mrs. Holdfast found her- 
 self alone with Frederick in a conservatory. 
 She had a difficulty in fastening one of the 
 vol. i. .17
 
 258 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 re- 
 pentance." 
 
 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 25!) 
 
 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 
 
 17*
 
 260 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 errors which stain a man's name with dis- 
 honour. 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 miserv. 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
 
 A MYSTERY. 261 
 
 than one. Frederick lias reformed ; lie 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
 
 2G2 GREAT POUTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 im- 
 putation of guilt. Appearances were all 
 against her ; the very interviews which she 
 herself had planned and solicited were proofs 
 against her. These infamous arguments con- 
 vinced 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 mis-
 
 A MYSTERY. 263 
 
 placed. Suffering most deeply himself, he 
 pitied her for the suffering she experienced in 
 bein^ the innocent cause of what could not 
 fail to be a life-long separation between him- 
 self 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 Hold- 
 fast 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.
 
 26+ GREAT POUTER SQUARE. 
 
 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 : 
 L 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,
 
 A MYSTERY. 2G3 
 
 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
 
 2CG GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 
 
 J. 
 
 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 pre- 
 sence was necessary in America to per-
 
 A MYSTERY. 267 
 
 sonally 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 under- 
 taken, 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,
 
 268 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 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 affec-
 
 A MYSTERY. 269 
 
 tion 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
 
 270 GREAT PORTER SQUARE: 
 
 the Australian colonies, or in New Zealand, 
 he may work out his repentance, under con- 
 ditions 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 thankful- 
 ness, 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 par-
 
 A MYSTERY. 271 
 
 ticulars 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
 
 272 GREAT PORTER SQUARE. 
 
 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 com- 
 ment, 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.
 
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