The evidence of the park-keeper, David Bristow, of Gilder Street,
Camden Town, is as follows:
I was on duty in St. James's Park on Thursday evening, my sphere
extending from the Mall to the northern shore of the ornamental water
east of the suspension bridge. At five-and-twenty to seven I took up a
position between the peninsula and the bridge to await my colleague.
He ought to have relieved me at half-past six, but did not arrive until
a few minutes before seven, owing, so he explained, to the breaking
down of his motor-'bus--which may have been true or may not, as the
saying is.
I had just come to a halt, when my attention was arrested by a lady. I
am unable to explain why the presence of a lady in St. James's Park
should have seemed in any way worthy of notice except that, for certain
reasons, she reminded me of my first wife. I observed that she
hesitated between one of the public seats and two vacant chairs
standing by themselves a little farther to the east. Eventually she
selected one of the chairs, and, having cleaned it with an evening
paper--the birds in this portion of the Park being extremely
prolific--sat down upon it. There was plenty of room upon the public
seat close to it, except for some children who were playing touch; and
in consequence of this I judged her to be a person of means.
I walked to a point from where I could command the southern approaches
to the bridge, my colleague arriving sometimes by way of Birdcage Walk
and sometimes by way of the Horse Guards Parade. Not seeing any signs
of him in the direction of the bridge, I turned back. A little way
past the chair where the lady was sitting I met Mr. Parable. I know
Mr. Parable quite well by sight. He was wearing the usual grey suit
and soft felt hat with which the pictures in the newspapers have made
us all familiar. I judged that Mr. Parable had come from the Houses of
Parliament, and the next morning my suspicions were confirmed by
reading that he had been present at a tea-party given on the terrace by
Mr. Will Crooks. Mr. Parable conveyed to me the suggestion of a man
absorbed in thought, and not quite aware of what he was doing; but in
this, of course, I may have been mistaken. He paused for a moment to
look over the railings at the pelican. Mr. Parable said something to
the pelican which I was not near enough to overhear; and then, still
apparently in a state of abstraction, crossed the path and seated
himself on the chair next to that occupied by the young lady.
From the tree against which I was standing I was able to watch the
subsequent proceedings unobserved. The lady looked at Mr. Parable and
then turned away and smiled to herself. It was a peculiar smile, and,
again in some way I am unable to explain, reminded me of my first wife.
It was not till the pelican put down his other leg and walked away that
Mr. Parable, turning his gaze westward, became aware of the lady's
presence.
From information that has subsequently come to my knowledge, I am
prepared to believe that Mr. Parable, from the beginning, really
thought the lady was a friend of his. What the lady thought is a
matter for conjecture; I can only speak to the facts. Mr. Parable
looked at the lady once or twice. Indeed, one might say with truth
that he kept on doing it. The lady, it must be admitted, behaved for a
while with extreme propriety; but after a time, as I felt must happen,
their eyes met, and then it was I heard her say:
"Good evening, Mr. Parable."
She accompanied the words with the same peculiar smile to which I have
already alluded. The exact words of Mr. Parable's reply I cannot
remember. But it was to the effect that he had thought from the first
that he had known her but had not been quite sure. It was at this
point that, thinking I saw my colleague approaching, I went to meet
him. I found I was mistaken, and slowly retraced my steps. I passed
Mr. Parable and the lady. They were talking together with what I
should describe as animation. I went as far as the southern extremity
of the suspension bridge, and must have waited there quite ten minutes
before returning eastward. It was while I was passing behind them on
the grass, partially screened by the rhododendrons, that I heard Mr.
Parable say to the lady:
"Why shouldn't we have it together?"
To which the lady replied:
"But what about Miss Clebb?"
I could not overhear what followed, owing to their sinking their
voices. It seemed to be an argument. It ended with the young lady
laughing and then rising. Mr. Parable also rose, and they walked off
together. As they passed me I heard the lady say:
"I wonder if there's any place in London where you're not likely to be
recognised."
Mr. Parable, who gave me the idea of being in a state of growing
excitement, replied quite loudly:
"Oh, let 'em!"