HOW THE CHARGE WAS DISPOSED OF.
"On the following morning, at half-past ten, our reporter presented
himself at the Bow Street Police Court, and was allowed a private
interview with Constance's mother, whom we must for the present
designate by the name she had assumed, Mrs. Weston. She looked worn
and pale, but beneath these traces of physical fatigue our reporter
observed in her an undefinable expression of moral strength which
surprised him. He had yet to learn, as our readers have, that this
woman's delicate frame was ennobled by those lofty attributes of
endurance and fortitude and moral power which in human history have
helped to make both heroes and martyrs.
"'You have passed a bad night,' said our reporter, commiseratingly.
"'In one sense I have,' said Mrs. Weston, 'but hope and prayer have
sustained me, and the Inspector has been very kind to me. Tell me of
my daughter.'
"He briefly related the particulars of his interview with Constance,
but made no mention of the red silk scarf. She thanked him with great
sweetness for the trouble he had taken, and said that she had been
wonderfully comforted by the belief that she had providentially met
with so true a friend.
"'Time will prove,' said our reporter, 'that you are not deceived in
your belief, but the manifestation of this proof will depend greatly
upon yourself. To speak more precisely, in your hands appears to me to
rest the power of accelerating events and of setting wrong things
right. I am speaking partly in the dark, from a kind of spiritual
intuition as it were, but when I strike a trail I have something of
the bloodhound in me; innocence will find in me a firm champion, guilt
I will pursue till I track it to its threshold.'
"The words were grandiloquent, it is true, but it was scarcely
possible to doubt their sincerity.
"'In resolving to confide thoroughly in you,' said Mrs. Weston, gazing
earnestly at him, 'I am risking more than you can possibly imagine. I
am like a shipwrecked woman to whom a prospect of deliverance has
suddenly appeared. I ask for no professions; I will trust you.'
"'You will live to thank the chance which has thrown us together,'
said our reporter. 'I do not hesitate to say that you have aroused in
me a strange interest; I devote myself to your cause heartily, in the
conviction that I am championing the cause of right and innocence.'
"Tears sprang in her eyes. 'Shall I be released to-day?'
"'I am confident of it. I want to say a word to the Inspector.'
"To Inspector Jealous, who was standing near, he expressed his thanks
for the kindness he had shown Mrs. Weston.
"'Well, you see,' said the inspector, in the first place it was enough
that she is a friend of yours; in the second place, it was enough that
she is a lady. I can read signs; she does not belong to the classes we
are in the habit of dealing with.'
"'She does not,' said our reporter. 'The whole affair is a mistake,
excusable enough on the part of the policeman, but regrettable because
of the distress it has caused an innocent lady. I shall make no
complaint against the policeman, on the score of over-officiousness;
he was within his rights, and on abstract grounds is perhaps to be
commended for his mistaken zeal.'
"It was a wise and prudent speech, and the Inspector, already kindly
disposed, conveyed it, before the case was called on, to the ears of
the policeman who had made the charge. Assured that no attempt would
be made by our reporter to bring him into disrepute, he toned down his
evidence considerably, and himself assisted in the dismissal of the
case, the brief particulars of which we extract from our police
columns:
"Groundless Charge.--Mary Weston, a woman of respectable appearance,
was charged with attempting to commit suicide. Constable 382 C said
that he was on duty on the Thames Embankment last night, about twelve
o'clock, when he saw the woman standing on the stone parapet close to
Cleopatra's Needle. Drawing near to her he heard a splash in the
water, and the woman was falling forward when he seized her and pulled
her away. A gentleman in court laid hold of the woman at the same
time, and assisted him in preventing her from carrying out her
purpose. The gentleman referred to, Mr. Robert Agnold, one of the
reporters upon the _Evening Moon_, and also a properly qualified
solicitor, said he appeared for the accused, who distinctly denied
that she had any intention of committing suicide. He was himself a
witness of the occurrence, and was convinced that the constable, who
had behaved very well throughout the affair, had acted under a
mistaken impression. The magistrate asked the constable what caused
the splash? The constable replied something the accused threw into the
river. The magistrate: 'Did you see what it was?' The constable: 'No.'
Mr. Agnold: 'I should state that the accused admits throwing something
into the river, and that in the act of doing so she overbalanced
herself and so aroused the constable's suspicions. Whatever it was
that she threw away, it was her own property and presumably valueless,
and, although her action was open to an eccentric construction, it
could go no farther than that. She had a perfect right to do what she
pleased with what belonged to her.' The constable said that search had
been made for it, but it had not been found. The woman went quietly to
the station, but refused to give her address. She was not known to the
police, and there was no evidence of her having been charged before.
The magistrate, to the accused: 'Have you any trouble that urged you
to put an end to your life?' The accused, whose speech was
distinguished by great modesty and refinement: 'I have troubles, as
other people have, but none that could impel me to an act so sinful.
Nothing was farther from my thoughts than the attempt with which I am
charged. I have done no wrong.' Mr. Agnold: 'Apart from my position as
her professional adviser, I will answer for her in every way.' The
magistrate: 'She is discharged.'
"It was half-past twelve when Mrs. Weston and our reporter issued from
the police court. They walked in silence toward Leicester Square,
which, in contrast to the thronged thoroughfares immediately adjoining
it, is at this time of the day comparatively quiet. Mrs. Weston looked
around inquiringly.
"'Do you know where we are?' asked our reporter.
"'No,' she replied.
"'Then you are not well acquainted with London?'
"'Not very well.'
"'This is Leicester Square. We are not far from Gerard street, Soho,
where M. Felix was found dead.' A tremor passed through her, and the
hand which rested upon our reporter's arm pressed it convulsively. He
did not pursue the subject, but said, 'All's well that ends well. Your
daughter will see you earlier than she expects. You will go straight
home, I suppose?'
"'Not straight. I am fearful of being followed. Heaven knows whether I
shall be able to accomplish the task that lies before me, but whatever
I do must be done without drawing notice upon myself. I will not
disguise from you that I have innocently placed myself in a false
position, and that I am in danger. I cannot explain my words at this
moment; I am anxious to see my beloved child; but I must repeat what I
have said to you before, that no sin or guilt lies at my door.'
"'I understand that, and I will bide your time. You are afraid that we
are being watched. I see no one in sight that can be dogging us, but I
can provide against the remotest possibility if you will allow me to
accompany you part of the way.'
"She accepted his services gratefully, and he hailed a cab, the driver
of which he directed to proceed in an opposite direction to Forston
Street, Camden Town. When the cab had gone a couple of miles they
alighted and walked the length of two or three streets, our reporter
keeping a sharp lookout; then another cab was hailed, which drove them
to Camden Town, about a quarter of a mile from Forston Street. They
walked together to within fifty yards of No. 21, and then Mrs. Weston
paused.
"'You wish me to leave you here,' said our reporter. 'Shall I see you
again soon?'
"'This evening, at eight o'clock,' she replied, 'if you will call upon
me.'
"'I will be punctual.'
"'I ought to tell you before you go,' she said, in a low tone, 'that
the name I gave at the police station is not my own. I was justified
in giving a false name; otherwise the knowledge of my--my disgrace
might have reached my daughter.'
"'You use a wrong term,' said our reporter, 'no disgrace whatever
attaches to you. Good-by till this evening.'
"He shook hands with her and walked briskly away. He had nothing of
importance to attend to in the office of the _Evening Moon_, but he
was expected to present himself there, and it was necessary that he
should arrange to have the afternoon and evening free. This being
settled, he turned toward Gerard Street, with the intention of calling
upon Mrs. Middlemore, to ascertain whether anything fresh had
transpired. He knocked vainly at the door, however, Mrs. Middlemore
was not in the house. At the bottom of Gerard Street he encountered
Sophy.
"'Ah, Sophy,' he said, 'I have just been to your house.'
"''Ave yer?' said Sophy, sidling up to him. 'Aunty ain't at 'ome.'
"'So I discovered. Where is she?'
"'At the perlice station,' answered the girl.
"'Anything wrong?'
"'I don't know.'
"'But what has she gone for?'
"'It's about Mr. Felix.'
"'About Mr. Felix!' he exclaimed.
"'So she ses.'
"'But what is the meaning of it, Sophy?'
"'I can't tell yer. All I know is I meets aunty with a face like
pickled cabbage, running and blowing and 'olding 'er sides, and I arks
'er what she's in sech a 'urry about. 'It's about poor Mr. Felix,' she
ses, as well as she could speak; she was that out of breath she could
'ardly git 'er words out. 'They've found out somethink, and they've
sent for me to the perlice station. You go 'ome at once and wait till
I come back.' 'Ow shall I get in?' I arks; aunty never gives me the
door-key; ketch 'er doing that! 'Ow shall I get in?' 'There's a gent
there,' ses aunty, as 'ill open the door for yer.' 'I goes and knocks,
and as no gent comes and opens the door for me, I takes a walk.'
"'Is that all you know, Sophy?'
"'That's all. I don't keep nothink from you--not likely.'
"'Can you tell me the name of the police station?'
"'Oh, yes, I can tell yer that. Bow Street.'
"Our reporter did not wait to exchange any further words, but hastened
as fast as he could to the Bow Street Police Court. He was close to it
when a constable accosted him.
"'I was coming for you at the _Evening Moon_ office, sir,' said the
constable. 'The Inspector sent me.'
"'What does he want?' asked our reporter.
"'They've fished up something from the river. He thought you would
like to see it.'
"'I should.'
"As he entered the doors his coat was plucked by Mrs. Middlemore.
"'Ah, Mrs. Middlemore,' he said, hastily, 'I will speak to you
presently. Don't go away; I will be out in a minute or two.'"