THE REPORTER OF THE "EVENING MOON" GIVES SOPHY
A TREAT.
"In the elucidation of a mystery there are facts which have to be
slowly and laboriously built up; there are others which need no such
process but establish themselves instantly in the analytical and
well-balanced mind. Our reporter is gifted with such a mind, and
certain facts connected with the case of M. Felix took instant form
and order. We will set these facts before our readers briefly and
concisely:
"It is necessary to premise--
"First, that M. Felix kept a loaded revolver beneath the pillows of
his bed.
"Second, that when Constables Wigg and Nightingale, Mrs. Middlemore,
and Dr. Lamb entered M. Felix's sitting-room after the door was forced
open, the window was open.
"We now proceed to the sequence of events.
"Shortly before his death M. Felix, being alone in the house in Gerard
Street, received a visitor. Whether expected or unexpected, whether
welcome or unwelcome, we are not prepared to state; nor are we
prepared to state how this visitor obtained entrance to the house.
Obtain entrance by some means he undoubtedly did, and mounting the
stairs, he knocked at the door of M. Felix's sitting-room. At the
moment M. Felix heard the knock he had his Indian desk open before
him, and it was in connection with a secret which this desk contained,
or to which a document in the desk could afford a clue, that the visit
was made. M. Felix, supposing that it was his housekeeper who knocked,
opened the door and admitted the intruder. A stormy scene ensued, and
M. Felix, throwing open his window, screamed for help. The appeal was
sent forth into the wild night more from the fear that he was about to
be robbed of this secret than from the fear that his life was in
danger. The hypothesis is strengthened by the fact that there were no
marks of personal violence on the body of M. Felix. The visitor laid
hands upon the desk, and as he did so M. Felix turned from the window,
snatched up the dagger, and hurled it with all his force at the
robber. The sharp point struck into the flesh of the intruder, and it
was his blood which was discovered on the floor of the room. The
agitation produced by the scene brought on the attack of heart disease
which caused M. Felix's death. The blind and momentary delirium which
ensued did not prevent M. Felix from thinking of the revolver beneath
his pillows; he staggered into his bedroom, but before he reached his
bed he fell lifeless in a chair. While this was going on the robber
had seized the desk, and, conscious that to carry away with him the
evidence of a dagger dripping with blood might lead to his detection,
he threw it swiftly from him behind the sideboard. He threw it with
his right hand, his back being toward the door, which accounts for the
place and position in which our reporter found the weapon. Then, with
the desk in his possession, he escaped from the house--ignorant of the
tragedy that had occurred, ignorant that M. Felix was lying dead
within a few feet of him. He left the door open, but the fierce wind
through the window blew it shut. It was while it was open that the cat
which alarmed Mrs. Middlemore and the two constables crept into the
room, became besmeared with blood, and crept out.
"The departure of the thief was like the falling of the curtain upon a
pregnant act in an exciting drama. Imagination follows the man as he
flies with his stolen treasure through the deserted streets;
imagination wanders to the dead form of M. Felix lying in the chair by
the bedside. When the curtain rises again, what will be disclosed?
"These thoughts came to the mind of our reporter with lightning
rapidity. Mrs. Middlemore had opened the street door, had closed it
again, and was now ascending the stairs. What should he do with the
dagger?
"To retain it would be an unwarranted act, and might be construed into
a theft. To take Mrs. Middlemore into his confidence might thwart his
operations in the future. He put his hand behind the sideboard, and
let the dagger fall. It was now safely hidden from sight, and its
presence behind the sideboard could only be discovered, by any other
person than himself, by the shifting of that piece of furniture.
"Mrs. Middlemore re-entered the room.
"'It was a runaway knock,' she said, 'The boys and girls take a
pleasure in it. If I could ketch one of 'em I'd bang their head agin
the wall.'
"'Did you see no one at all?' asked our reporter.
"'Only some people staring up at the winders,' replied Mrs.
Middlemore. 'The 'ouse 'as become a regular show since that dreadful
night. What do they expect to see?'
"'Perhaps the ghost of M. Felix,' suggested our reporter, with, it
must be confessed, a rather feeble attempt at humor.
"'Don't mention sech a thing, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, piteously.
'It makes my flesh creep.'
"'I only said it in joke; there are no such things as ghosts and
spirits.'
"'Some people believe otherwise sir.'
"'The more fools they. Well, Mrs. Middlemore, there is nothing more I
wish to ask you just now; I must get back to my duties. But I must not
waste your time for nothing.'
"He pressed into her willing palm another half-sovereign, making the
second he had given her.
"'I'm sure you're very kind, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, after
furtively glancing at the coin, to see that it was not a sixpence.
'Shall I see you agin?'
"'Yes. Good-night, Mrs. Middlemore.'
"'Good-night, sir,' she responded, as they went down-stairs. 'I 'ope
Sophy won't be gone long.'
"'She'll be back soon, I daresay.' He paused in the passage. 'Mrs.
Middlemore, are you satisfied that I am your friend?'
"'Yes, sir, I am.'
"'Then, if anything new occurs, you will let me know at once.'
"'I will, sir.'
"'And if it should happen,' said our reporter, 'that you remember
anything you have forgotten to tell me, you will come and let me know
it?'
"'I'll be sure to, sir.'
"Wishing her good-night again, he left the house, and heard her close
the street door behind him with a bang.
"It was not without a motive that our reporter had addressed his last
words to her. He had an idea that she had not been quite frank with
him respecting M. Felix's visitors feeling assured that she could not
be so entirely in the dark regarding them as she professed to be. His
visit had not been fruitless; he had become acquainted with the loss
of the desk, and he had discovered the dagger with its curiously
shaped handle. Two steps advanced in the mystery, which might lead to
something of importance.
"He walked slowly on, revolving these matters in his mind, and
debating whether he could make any present use of them when his coat
was plucked by a small hand. Looking down, he saw Sophy.
"'Ah, Sophy,' he said, 'what do you want?'
"'I've been waiting for yer,' said Sophy. 'I've got somethink to
tell.'
"'Good. Where shall we talk?'
"Sophy's reply was a strange one. 'I know,' she said, where they sells
fried fish and fried 'taters.' She smacked her lips.
"'You would like some?'
"'Wouldn't I? Jest?'
"'Lead the way, Sophy.'
"'You're a brick, old 'un, that's what you are.'
"She walked close to him, rubbing against him after the fashion of a
friendly cat, and conducted him toward the purlieus of Drury Lane.
"'You're going to stand treat, ain't yer?'
"'Yes, Sophy, to as many fried potatoes and as much fried fish as you
can comfortably tuck away.'
"'No gammon, yer know?'
"'I mean what I say, Sophy.'
"'Then there's stooed eels?'
"'All right; you shall have some.'
"'Don't say afterwards as I took you in. My inside's made of injer
rubber. The more I puts in it the more it stretches.'
"'I don't mind, Sophy.'
"'You're somethink like a gent. I say, was aunty riled at the runaway
knock?'
"'Oh, it was you, was it?'
"'Yes, it was me; I was gitting tired of waiting for yer. She's close,
ain't she?'
"'Who? Your aunt?'
"'Yes; but I'm closer, I am. I could tell 'er somethink as 'd make 'er
'air stand on end.'
"'And you are going to tell it to me?'
"'Per'aps. If yer make it wuth my while.'
"'You shall have no reason to complain, Sophy. Is it about M. Felix?'
"'You wait till I've 'ad my tuck out.'
"Burning as he was with curiosity, our reporter wisely restrained his
impatience. They had now arrived at the fried-potato shop, and Sophy
stood before the open window with eager eyes. The potatoes were
frizzling in the pan, and were being served out hot by a greasy
Italian. His customers were of the very poorest sort, and most of them
received the smoking hot potatoes in the street, and went away to eat
them. You could purchase a half-penny's worth or a penny's worth the
paper bags in which they were delivered being of different sizes. On
the open slab in the window were pieces of fried plaice, tails, heads,
and middles, the price varying according to the size. A few
aristocratic customers were inside the shop, sitting upon narrow
wooden benches, and eating away with an air of great enjoyment.
"'Don't they smell prime?' whispered Sophy.
"Our reporter assented, although the odor of fat which floated from
the pan left, to the fastidious taste, something to be desired.
"'Will you eat your supper outside or in, Sophy?'
"Inside, old 'un,' said Sophy.
"They went into the shop and took their seats. There were no plates or
knives or forks, but there was a plentiful supply of salt and pepper.
"'Can you manage without a plate?' asked our reporter.
"With her superior knowledge of the ways of this free-and-easy
restaurant, Sophy replied, 'Plates be blowed!'
"'But you will certainly want a knife.'
"'No I shan't,' said Sophy, 'fingers was made before knives.'
"With two large middle slices of fried fish and a penny's worth of
fried potatoes spread upon a piece of newspaper before her, Sophy fell
to with a voracious appetite. In his position of host our reporter was
compelled to make a sacrifice, and he therefore toyed with a small
heap of fried potatoes, and put a piece occasionally into his mouth.
His critical report is that they were not at all bad food; it was the
overpowering smell of fat that discouraged this martyr to duty.
"'I say,' said Sophy, 'ain't yer going to 'ave some fried fish? Do
'ave some! You don't know 'ow good it is.'
"'I am eating only out of politeness, Sophy,' said our reporter,
watching the child with wonder; she had disposed of her first batch
and was now busy upon a second supply. 'I have not long had my
dinner.'
"'Ain't we proud?' observed the happy girl. '_I_ like _my_ dinner--when
I can git it, old 'un--in the middle of the day, not in the middle of
the night.'
"'You eat as if you were hungry, Sophy.'
"'I'm allus 'ungry. You try and ketch me when I ain't!'
"'Doesn't your aunt give you enough?'
"'She 'lowances me, and ses I mustn't over-eat myself. As if I could!
I ses to 'er sometimes, "Give me a chance, aunt!" I ses; and she ups
and ses she knows wot's good for me better than I do myself, and all
the while she's eating and drinking till she's fit to bust. She's fond
of her innards, is aunt. Never mind, it'll be my turn one day, you see
if it won't. There, I'm done. Oh, don't you stare! I could eat a lot
more, but there's stooed eels to come, I _do_ like stooed eels, I do!'
"Our reporter had no reason to complain of Sophy's extravagance;
though she had disposed of four slices of fried fish and two helpings
of fried potatoes, his disbursement amounted to no more than tenpence
half-penny. Upon leaving the shop Sophy again assumed the command, and
conducted our reporter to the stewed-eel establishment, where she
disposed of three portions, which the proprietor ladled out in very
thick basins. The host of this magnificent entertainment was somewhat
comforted to find that although fingers were made before knives (and
presumably, therefore, before spoons), Sophy was provided with a very
substantial iron spoon to eat her succulent food with. As in the
fried-potato establishment there was a plentiful supply of salt and
pepper, so here there was a plentiful supply of pepper and vinegar, of
which Sophy liberally availed herself. At the end of her third basin
Sophy raised her eyes heavenward and sighed ecstatically.
"'Have you had enough?' asked our reporter.
"'Enough for once,' replied Sophy, with a prudent eye to the future.
'I wouldn't call the Queen my aunt.'
"Our reporter did not ask why, Sophy's tone convincing him that the
observation was intended to express a state of infinite content, and
had no reference whatever to Mrs. Middlemore.
"'Now, Sophy,' he said, 'are you ready to tell me all you know?'
"'I'll tell yer a lot,' said Sophy, and if you ain't sapparized--well,
there!'
"Another colloquialism, which our reporter perfectly understood.
"'What will your aunt say?' he asked--they had left the shop, and were
walking side by side--'to your coming home late?'
"'Wot she likes,' replied Sophy, with a disdainful disregard of
consequences. 'If she don't like it she may lump it. Don't frighten
yerself; she's used to it by this time. Where are you going to take
me?'
"Our reporter had settled this in his mind. 'To my rooms, where we can
talk without interruption.'
"'Oh, but I say,' exclaimed Sophy, 'won't they stare!'
"'There will be no one to do that, Sophy, and you will be quite safe.'
"Sophy nodded, and kept step with him as well as she could. It was not
easy, by reason of her boots being odd, and not only too large for her
feet, but in a woful state of dilapidation. In one of the narrow
streets through which they passed, a second-hand clothing shop was
open, in the window of which were displayed some half-dozen pairs of
children's boots. A good idea occurred to him.
"'Your boots are worn out, Sophy.'
"'There's 'ardly any sole to 'em,' remarked Sophy.
"'Would a pair of those fit you?'
"'Oh, come along. I don't want to be made game of.'
"'I am not doing so, Sophy,' said our reporter, slipping three
half-crowns into her hand. 'Go in, and buy the nicest pair you can;
and mind they fit you properly.'
"Sophy raised her eyes to his face, and our reporter observed, without
making any remark thereon, that they were quite pretty eyes, large,
and of a beautiful shade of brown, and now with a soft light in them.
She went into the shop silently, and returned, radiant and grateful,
shod as a human being ought to be.
"'Do yer like 'em?' she asked, putting one foot on the ledge of the
shop window.
"'They look very nice,' he said. 'I hope they're a good fit?'
"'They're proper. 'Ere's yer change, and I'm ever so much obliged to
yer.'
"The words were commonplace, but her voice was not. There was in it a
note of tearful gratefulness which was abundant payment for an act of
simple kindness. Utilitarians and political economists may smile at
our statement that we owe the poor a great deal, and that but for them
we should not enjoy some of the sweetest emotions by which the human
heart can be stirred."