Meanwhile the inspector had taken the nurse aside, and said to her:
"This is a dreadful thing, that a man's house and his child should be
burned."
The woman was weeping and wailing bitterly. "I was deceived!" she
said. "I was cruelly deceived. I don't know why they deceived me. I
don't know why that woman deceived me. My beautiful boy! My beautiful
child! It will kill his mother, and his father will never look at me
again."
"I don't ask you to tell me," said the inspector, "anything you don't
like. Don't tell me anything that's against yourself. If you get into
any trouble over this matter I might find it my duty to tell all you
told me. But if you like I will listen to anything you have to say."
"I'll tell you all I know about the matter, and you may do what you
like with me. You couldn't do anything to me I don't deserve. I should
never have left the house. I would never have left the house only for
the lie that was told me."
"Well, I will listen to what you have to say now, if you wish," said
the inspector.
The following is the story told by Bridget, the nurse:
"My master and mistress left the house early to-day, between ten and
eleven o'clock. They said they would not be back till after the play
was over. They left me everything the boy and myself should want, and
told me I was to get his dinner and my own at the usual time, and his
supper between five and six, and that I was to put him to bed at six,
as usual. I am an old servant in the O'Donnell family. I brought up
Mr. Eugene himself, and they knew they could trust me.
"I did everything they told me. I had nothing else to do all day but
look after the boy, and get his dinner and my own, and his supper and
my tea. I got his dinner and my own between one and two, and then he
was with me about the house when I was tidying up, until it was time
to get his supper and my tea, between five and six.
"I hadn't much to do. There was no knock at the front door, and only a
few at the side door, and no one was in the house from the time the
master and mistress left, until that ragged boy called in the evening.
"I had given the child his supper and put him to bed a little while,
and was taking my tea in the kitchen, when there was a single knock at
the side door.
"I was just done my tea, so I let the knock wait for a minute or so,
while I was finishing. Then I got up and opened the side door, and I
saw standing there, in the passage, a dirty, ragged boy, of about
fourteen or fifteen years of age.
"I did not like the look of him at all, and I asked him what he
wanted. He said he wanted Mr. O'Donnell's house.
"I told him this was it, and asked him what he wanted at Mr.
O'Donnell's house.
"He said he wanted to see Mr. O'Donnell's nurse, he had a message for
her.
"I said I was Mr. O'Donnell's nurse, and asked him what his business
with me was.
"He said he had a private message for me, that he was to give to
nobody else.
"I could make nothing of him. I didn't expect a message from anyone.
He looked a bad boy, a common street boy that had no good bringing up.
I did not ask him across the threshold. I said to him: 'Well, if you
have any message for Mr. O'Donnell's nurse, give it to me. There is no
one near to hear.'
"'Are you the nurse?' said the boy,--after my telling him twice I was.
"'Yes,' said I, 'I am Mr. O'Donnell's nurse.'
"'Then,' said he, 'a woman told me to come and fetch you.'
"'What woman, and where does she want me to go to?' I asked.
"'Oh, she's a most respectable woman; and she said she'd tell you her
business when she saw you, and that she would not tell it to anyone
but yourself.'
"I thought all this very queer. He wouldn't tell anyone but me what
his message was, and when I came to hear what it was, there was
nothing in it he mightn't tell anyone. For what harm could there be in
my going to see a woman, or in his asking me to go to see her? Then I
thought to myself, I won't stir a step with this bad-looking boy, and
I said: 'Tell the woman that sent you I don't know her. If she knew me
she'd have told you her name, and why couldn't she have come herself?'
"'I don't know any of these things. She certainly did tell me one
thing that I forgot, and it was that if you came and heard what she
had to say, it would do a whole lot of good to your master and
mistress.'
"When he said this I began to think: 'Maybe 'tis some secret about the
bank my old master lost all his money in, and no matter how ragged or
dirty the boy may be, it is not my place to throw away any chance
there may be of my master or his son getting back some of their
money.'
"So I said to the boy: 'Wait here till I get my bonnet and shawl,' and
with that I went upstairs to the room in which the child lay. He was
wide awake. He would always go to sleep by himself, but never in the
dark. So when I came down to my tea I left the lamp alight on the
table.
"I told the child I was going out, and if he'd be a good boy and
promise not to get out of bed or go near the lamp, I'd turn it up
higher. He promised not to stir. I took my shawl and bonnet, and came
down.
"When I got to the kitchen the ragged boy was sitting on one of the
chairs, although I had told him to stay where he was.
"I turned down the kitchen lamp, took the key out of the door, and
pulled the door after me. The door shuts with a spring-latch, and
there was no occasion to lock it.
"The woman's messenger brought me along some streets I was never in
before, until he came to a cross-road where there was a great deal of
light and a lot of public-houses.
"He pointed out one, and said it was there the woman was. I said I
wouldn't go in, that I did not go into public-houses, and he said:
'Well, wait a minute, and I'll tell her you're here.'
"He ran in, and in a moment came out with a woman as dirty and as
ill-looking as himself, and she said: 'Why, Bridget, won't you come in
and have a glass?'
"I said: 'No, I won't; I never go into such places.' I did not know
her voice or her looks. And I didn't like her voice or her looks, and
I wanted to have nothing to do with her. But when I heard her call me
Bridget as if she knew me all her life, and when I thought of the
master and the mistress and their money that was lost, I felt I must
anyway listen to what she had to say. I saw her give the boy some
money. Then he ran away.
"Then she asked me if I'd walk down a bit of the street with her, and
I said I would, but that she must be quick in saying all she had to
say to me.
"By this time we had got out of the broad road and were in a kind of
lane, with walls, and trees growing over the walls on each side.
"She said she heard I was in a good situation, and that my old master
had been very kind to me and had given me many presents. And with that
we came under a lamp, and she said: 'I know you're in a hurry back.
What I have to say to you won't take a minute, and I'll show you a
short cut home. But while we're near the light, would you mind telling
me the time?'
"I took out my watch, which was one of the presents the old master had
given me, and looked at it. There were two lanes crossing here. When I
looked at my watch it was a quarter past seven. I got a great start to
think I was out so long. I told her the hour, and said: 'Show me the
short cut, and tell me what you have to say at once.'
"'That's the short cut,' said she, pointing straight on, and before I
knew what was happening, she made a snatch at my watch, and ran down
the cross lane as fast as she could.
"The chain did not break. She was a younger and lighter woman than I
am, and I knew I could not overtake her if I tried, and before I could
think of anything, I lost sight of her in the darkness.
"When I got back, which wasn't for more than an hour, I saw the house
was on fire, and remembering all about the lamp and the child, I
thought he must have turned it over, and set fire to the place. I
hadn't the courage to stay, knowing what I had done. So I went away as
fast as I could, and stopped away until now."
When the nurse had ceased speaking, the inspector said nothing beyond:
"The whole thing seems to have been a clumsy dodge to steal your
watch."
This explanation did not fully satisfy the inspector's mind, and he
resolved to put the woman's story aside until he had more opportunity
of thinking over it.
O'Donnell was once more pacing up and down. The flames were almost
subdued. It was now past midnight, and the crowd, which had collected
to see the fire, had gradually melted away.
O'Donnell, seeing that the inspector had turned from the nurse,
approached him, and said: "There can no longer be the faintest hope.
There can no longer be an excuse for hope. Do you not think so?"
"In all cases of the kind," said the inspector, softly and sadly, "it
is impossible to be sure until we have positive evidence. The nurse
has told me her story, and if it is true, I am afraid we must be
prepared for the worst."
"Then my boy is dead!" cried O'Donnell, in anguish. "For I am sure
old Bridget would not tell a lie to save her life. My boy! My little
boy! This will kill his mother! My only fear is that it will not kill
me."
At that moment a man stepped quickly through the line of policemen,
which was no longer very strictly kept. He put his hand on O'Donnell's
shoulder and said softly: "I recognised your voice, Eugene. I heard
what you said."
"Fraser, this is awful!"
"It is a dreadful blow, my dear fellow, a dreadful blow! I went home.
I have been greatly excited since, and in my excitement, I am ashamed
to say I forgot you for a moment, and told the man to drive me home.
My wife was not at the theatre; and, until she said something to me
about you, I did not realise the fact that you might have worse news
than the burning down of your house."
"Ay, I have the worst that we could have expected from the news
Lavirotte brought."
"Has anyone been here from the theatre?"
"No. I have seen no one I knew since I left."
"Then you have not heard what has happened?"
"No."
"In the second act Lavirotte fell insensible on the stage, and we had
to drop the curtain and stop the piece."
"Good heavens! What a night of disasters! How is he?"
"He recovered in a short time, and in spite of all we could do, and
all the doctor could say to the contrary, insisted on being driven to
Porter Street. He would allow no one of the company but Jephson to go
with him. As you say, it was a night of disasters; but, my dear
Eugene, yours is far the worst."
"Mr. Fraser," said a new voice, "do you know anything of O'Donnell?"
"Yes, Jephson. He is here."
"Where?" said Jephson.
"Here," repeated Fraser, putting his hand on O'Donnell.
"I did not recognise you. I suppose you have told him what has
happened, Fraser?"
"Yes," said O'Donnell. "How is Lavirotte?"
"Dying," answered Jephson. "He cannot last till daylight, and he says
he cannot die without seeing you. Can you come with me to him?"
O'Donnell moved over to the inspector, and asked: "When can we be
quite certain of the worst?"
"Not until after daylight," answered the inspector.
"Then I will go with you, Jephson. He is the dearest friend I have in
the world, and I will not see my wife again until the evidence is
complete."