A TRACE AND A SEARCH.
THREE weary nights and two days had passed, when as Mr. Legrange,
bending over his wife's sofa, entreated her to take the food and
drink he had himself prepared for her, a sharp peal at the bell,
followed by a bounding step upon the stair, startled them both.
"It is Tom, and he has news!" exclaimed Mrs. Legrange in a low
voice, as she pushed away the tray and rose to her feet.
The door opened, and the young man entered, his tired face glowing
with hope and satisfaction. In his hand he held a little bundle; and
sitting down, with no more than word of greeting, he hastily untied
it upon his knee.
"Aren't these her clothes?" asked he breathlessly, as he held up by
one sleeve a little sky-blue merino-dress, with a torn lace
undersleeve hanging from the shoulder, and in the other hand a pair
of dainty little boots of bronze cloth.
Mrs. Legrange, with a wild cry, darted forward, and, grasping the
pretty dress, buried her face in it, covering it with kisses, while
she cried,--
"Yes, yes! O Tom! where is she? Tell me quick, before my poor heart
breaks with joy!"
Mr. Burroughs remained silent. How could he say that he knew as
little as ever how to answer this appeal?
"Where did you get them, Tom?" asked Mr. Legrange hurriedly.
"Billings found them in a pawn-broker's shop. You know we gave all
the detectives a list of the clothing, and full description of the
child. Billings has been all over the city, examining at every
pawn-broker's shop all the children's clothes brought in since we
lost her, you know"--
"Yes, yes! And when"--
"Last night he found this in a little out-of-the-way place (I didn't
stop to ask where), and, thinking they looked like the right thing,
brought them to me. I was asleep, and the people stupidly would not
wake me: so he waited; and this morning, when I rose, there he was.
I snatched the bundle, and came right along with it. Now, of course,
they'll soon find who left them: only, unluckily, they weren't
pawned, but sold outright; so they didn't take the name; but the man
thinks it was an old woman who sold them to him. He is in custody;
and we will go down and hear the examination, Paul."
"Certainly, at once." And Mr. Legrange nervously buttoned his coat,
and moved toward the door.
"It is to be at ten, and it is now half-past nine. I suppose we had
better go at once. Good-by, dear cousin Fanny!" said Mr. Burroughs,
looking sorrowfully at the wan face upraised to his, as the poor
mother replied,--
"Good-by, Tom! and oh, pray, do every thing, every thing, that can
be done! I cannot tell"--
She was unable to finish, and the two men hurried away from the
sight of a sorrow as yet without remedy.
The examination of the blear-eyed and stupid old pawn-broker
resulted in very little satisfaction. He believed that it was a
woman who had sold him the bundle of child's clothing. He was not
sure if it were an old or a young woman, but rather thought it was
an old woman. It might have been a week ago that he bought them; it
might have been more, or it might have been less: he didn't set it
down, and couldn't say.
This was all; and, as nothing could be proved or even suspected of
him in connection with 'Toinette's disappearance, he was discharged
from custody, although warned to hold himself in readiness to appear
at any moment when he should be summoned.
He had not yet, however, left the room, when one of the audience, a
policeman off duty, stepped forward, and, intimating that he had
something to say, was sworn, and went on to tell how he had been
leaning against a lamp-post at the extreme of his beat, just resting
a bit, in the edge of evening before last, when he saw an old woman
that they call Mother Winch come up the street, carrying a bundle,
and leading a little girl. He knew she hadn't any child of her own;
and the child was dressed very poor; and Mother Winch called her
Judy or Biddy, or some Paddy-name or other; and maybe it was all
right, and maybe it wasn't. It could be worked up easy enough, he
supposed.
So supposed the detective in whose hands the clew was immediately
placed; but when, an hour later, he descended the steps into Mother
Winch's cellar, he found that a keener and a swifter messenger than
himself had already called the wretched old woman to account; and
she lay across the rusty old stove, quite dead, with a broken bottle
of spirit upon the floor beside her, and all the front of her body
shockingly burned. The coroner who was called to see her decided
that she had fallen across the stove, either in a fit, or too much
intoxicated to move, and had died unconscious of her situation. She
was buried by public charity, and in her grave seemed hidden every
hope of tracing the lost child.
"She must have been carried from the city," said the detectives; and
the search was extended into the country, and to other towns and
cities, although not neglected at home.