CHAPTER VIII.
A STARTLING PHASE IN THE MYSTERY
"We hark back now to the point at which we left Constable Nightingale. He had returned to Gerard Street without having found the man. During his absence nothing further had occurred to alarm the housekeeper and the constable who kept her company, and they were in doubt as to what was best to be done. There was no evidence that the man had entered the house with the intention of robbing it, but he might have done so, and being disturbed before he effected his purpose, thought it expedient to make his escape as quickly as possible. They were debating this view when they were startled by what they declare was an 'apparition.' It was the apparition of a half-starved cat, which in some way must have found an entrance into the house before Mrs. Middlemore came back with her supper-beer. The cat did not belong to the house, for M. Felix had a horror of such creatures, and would not allow one to be kept on the premises. It was not the cat that startled them, but the color of the cat, which seemed to have been rolling itself in blood. They saw it only for an instant, and then it disappeared, and has not since been seen again; but it left its marks behind it. On the oil-cloth were marks of blood, made by the cat's paws. These signs decided their course of action, and they proceeded upstairs to the apartments occupied by M. Felix. They knocked and called out loudly to him, but received no answer. By an ingenious arrangement, devised presumably by M. Felix himself, the keyhole of the door by which they stood was masked by a brass plate, the secret of which was known only to M. Felix. The silence strengthened their apprehensions of foul play, and they determined to force the door open. To effect this it was necessary to obtain the assistance of a locksmith, and Constable Nightingale issued forth once more, and brought back with him not only a locksmith, but a doctor in the neighborhood, Dr. Lamb, who was coming home late from a professional visit. With some difficulty the door was forced open, and the first thing that met their eyes was a pool of blood on the floor of the sitting-room. They describe it as such, although subsequent examination proved that there was a decided exaggeration in calling it a pool, the quantity of blood which had fallen not being very serious. M. Felix was not in this room, but when they entered the bedroom adjoining they discovered him in an arm-chair, bearing the appearance of a man who had fallen asleep. He was not asleep, however; he was dead. The natural presumption was that he had been murdered, and that the blood on the floor was his, but Dr. Lamb very soon declared that this was not the case. M. Felix was dead, certainly, but his death was produced by natural causes, heart disease. In this conclusion Dr. Lamb was supported by other medical evidence which was sought on the following day, and this being supposed to be sufficiently established, the necessity of a post-mortem was not immediately recognized. The body was lifted on the bed, and there lay, dressed, as it had fallen into the arm-chair.
"Accounts of these strange occurrences did not appear in the morning newspapers of January 17th, and the first intimation the public received of them was through the evening papers of that date. Even in this initial stage we scented a mystery, and we despatched our reporters to Mrs. Middlemore to obtain such information as would prove interesting to our readers. Our reporters, however, were not able to see Mrs. Middlemore; neither were they able to get access to the house; some absurd orders on the part of the police were being carried out, which converted the house into a kind of safe. But such ridiculous methods are not difficult to circumvent, and we determined that the public should not be robbed of their privileges. On January 18th, that is, some thirty-four hours after the death of M. Felix, we inserted the following advertisement in the first edition of the Evening Moon, and repeated it in all our subsequent editions. We printed it in such bold type, and placed it in such a prominent position, that it could not fail to reach the eyes of persons who were interested in the case:
"'The Strange Death of M. Felix in Gerard Street, Soho. Persons who had private or other interviews with M. Felix between the hours of eight in the morning and twelve at night on January 16th, or who are in possession of information which will throw light upon the circumstances surrounding his death, are urgently requested to call at the office of the Evening Moon at any time after the appearance of this advertisement. Liberal rewards will be paid to all who give such information, and the best legal assistance is offered by the proprietors of this journal, entirely at their own expense, to all who may desire it and who are in any way interested in M. Felix's death.'
"Meanwhile, so far as the police were concerned, matters remained in abeyance. They seemed to do nothing, and certainly discovered nothing. One of our contemporaries, in a leading article, has suggested that the insertion of this advertisement in our columns was an attempt to tamper with justice, or, if not to tamper, to defeat its ends. We can afford to smile at such an insinuation. There was no case before the public courts, and no person was accused of anything whatever in connection with the strange affair. The action we took was taken in the cause of justice, to arouse it to action and assist it. In the lighted torch of publicity there is an irresistible moral force. It would be well if material light were thrown upon the black spaces in this mighty city-upon the black spaces in which crimes are committed, the perpetrators of which are enabled to escape because of the convenient darkness in which they carry their horrible plans to a successful issue. If old-time officialism refuses to stir out of the old routine of useless and pernicious methods, forces which are not amenable to red tapeism must take the reins, must take into their own hands the plain duties of lawful authority, duties which they neglect and evade to the injury of society at large. We do not preach socialism, we preach justice-and light.
"Thus far in our narrative we have brought matters up to the night of January 18th. The house in Gerard Street is dark and silent; the body of M. Felix is lying on the bed to which it was lifted from the arm-chair in which it was discovered.
"The night was unusually dark. The snow-storm had ceased on the previous day, and the reflected light of white thoroughfares no longer helped to dispel the pervading gloom.
"The morning newspapers of the 19th contained no items of particular interest in connection with the death of M. Felix. We were the first to announce an extraordinary and apparently inexplicable move in the mystery. In order to do this we published our first edition two hours earlier than usual.
"At nine o'clock on this morning one of our reporters, in the exercise of his duty, was outside the house in Gerard Street, looking up at the window of the sitting-room which M. Felix had occupied. He had exchanged a few words with a policeman in the street.
"'I am on the staff of the Evening Moon,' he said to the policeman. 'Is there anything new concerning M. Felix?'
"'Nothing,' replied the policeman, quite civilly, and passed on.
"Our reporter remained outside the house. Patient and persevering, he hoped to pick up some item of interest which he might be able to weave into a paragraph.
"Suddenly the street door was opened from within, and Mrs. Middlemore appeared. Her face was flushed, and in her eyes was a wandering look as she turned them this way and that. The moment our reporter observed these symptoms of distress he came to the conclusion that there was some interesting item of which he could avail himself. He stepped up to Mrs. Middlemore.
"'What is the matter?' he asked.
"'He's gone!' gasped Mrs. Middlemore, wringing her hands. 'He's vanished!'
"'Who has gone? Who has vanished?' inquired our reporter.
"'M. Felix,' said Mrs. Middlemore, in a faint tone.
"'My good creature,' said our reporter, 'you must be dreaming.'
"'I'm not dreaming,' said Mrs. Middlemore. 'He's vanished. If you don't believe me, go up and look for yourself. Where are the police. Oh, where are the police?'
"'Don't make a disturbance,' said our reporter, soothingly. 'Let us see if you're not mistaken.'
"Gladly availing himself of the invitation to go up and look for himself, our reporter entered the house, and ascended the stairs, followed by Mrs. Middlemore, moaning in a helpless, distracted fashion.
"The door of the sitting-room was open, and also the inner door, leading to the bedroom. There was no person, living or dead, in either of the rooms.
"'Where was he?' asked our reporter.
"'There, on the bed,' moaned Mrs. Middlemore. 'He was there last night before I locked the door; and when I looked in a minute ago he was gone.'
"It was undeniably true. The bed bore the impression of a human form, but that was all. The body of M. Felix had, indeed, disappeared!"
CHAPTER IX.
INTRODUCES SOPHY
"Our reporter gazed at the bed in astonishment, while Mrs. Middlemore continued to move her hands and eyes helplessly around, and moan for the police. Our reporter is a man of resource, quick-witted, ready-minded, and ever ready to take advantage of an opportunity. He took advantage of this.
"'My good creature,' he said, 'what is the use of crying for the police? Have they assisted you in any way in this mysterious affair?'
"'No, they 'aven't,' replied Mrs. Middlemore, adding inconsequentially, 'but where are they-Oh! where are they?'
"'What have they done already for you?' continued our reporter. 'Brought you into trouble with the newspapers because of their evidence contradicting yours; and whatever other people may say, I am sure you spoke the truth.' Our reporter observed something frightened in the look she cast at him as he made this assertion. 'The best thing for you is to confide in a friend who is really anxious to serve you, and whose purpose is to get at the truth of the matter.'
"'That's all I want. But where's the friend?'
"'Here. I am on the staff of the Evening Moon, which is ready to spend any amount of money in clearing the innocent and bringing the guilty to justice. They haven't any interested motives to serve; they didn't know the dead man, who some people say was murdered, and some people say wasn't. If you are an innocent woman you would jump at the chance I offer you; if you're guilty, it's a different pair of shoes, and I wash my hands of you.'
"The threat cowed Mrs. Middlemore.
"'I'm innocent, you know I am,' she gasped.
"'Of course I know you are, and I should like the opportunity to silence the wretches who speak of you in a suspicious way.'
"'What 'ave they said of me? What 'ave they dared to say?'
"'What you wouldn't like to hear; but never mind them just now. We'll soon take the sting out of their tails. Besides, while you are working in the cause of innocence your time will not be wasted. You will be well paid for the information you give.'
"This appeal to her cupidity settled the point.
"'I'll do it,' she said, 'whatever it is. I'm a innocent woman, and I want the world to know it.'
"'The world shall know it,' said our reporter, with inward satisfaction at the success of his arguments; 'and when the whole thing is made clear through you you'll be looked upon as a heroine, and everybody will be running to shake hands with you. People will say, "There, that's the woman that brought to light the truth about M. Felix. If it hadn't been for her we should never have known it. She's a real true woman; no nonsense about her." Why, I shouldn't wonder if they got up a subscription for you.'
("We have no doubt, when this meets the eyes of our contemporaries, that some of them will be ready to take us severely to task for the tactics adopted by our reporter. Let them. We are thoroughly satisfied with the means he employed, and we offer him our sincere thanks. There is not a move we make in this mystery which is not made in the interests of justice, and that we are not ashamed of our methods is proved by the absolutely frank manner in which we place before our readers every word that passes.)
"'What is it you want me to do?' asked Mrs. Middlemore.
"'Merely,' replied our reporter, to answer a few simple questions. I have my reasons for believing that the police have advised you to say nothing to anyone but themselves.'
"'They 'ave, sir, they 'ave.'
"'What better are you off for it? Here are people ready to say anything against you, while you are advised to sit in a corner without uttering a single word in your own defence. It's monstrous. Upon my word, my dear Mrs. Middlemore, it's nothing less than monstrous.'
"'So it is,' said Mrs. Middlemore, all of whose scruples seemed to have vanished. 'I'll answer anything you put to me.'
"I shall ask you nothing improper. You say that you locked the door before you went to bed last night. Which door? There are two, one leading to the first floor landing, one communicating between the bedroom and sitting-room. Which of these doors did you lock? Or did you lock both?'
"'I won't tell you a lie, sir. When I said I locked the door I thought you'd understand me. I mean that I fastened both of 'em. I couldn't lock 'em because the bedroom door key's been taken away, and the door on the landing's been cut into.'
"'That was done by the locksmith. Who took away the key of the bedroom?'
"'I don't know. Perhaps the police.'
"'Without your knowledge?'
"'I didn't know nothing of it.'
"'How badly they are behaving to you! Anyway, the two doors were closed?'
"'Yes, I saw to that myself. I ain't in the house without company, don't you think that. I wouldn't stop in it alone if you was to offer me Queen Victoria's golden crown. My niece is downstairs abed, and once she gets between the sheets she's that difficult to rouse that it's as much as a regiment of soldiers can do to wake 'er.' (This, our reporter thought, was comic, implying that Mrs. Middlemore had engaged the services of a regiment of soldiers to get her niece out of bed every morning.) 'Come up-stairs by myself in the dark,' continued Mrs. Middlemore, 'is more than I dare do. In the daylight I venture if I'm forced to, as I did a minute or two ago, because, though I shook Sophy till I almost shook 'er to pieces, and lifted 'er up in bed and let 'er fall back again, it had no more effect on 'er than water on a duck's back. All she did was to turn round, and bring 'er knees up to 'er chin, and keep 'old of the bedclothes as if she was a vice. She's that aggravating there's 'ardly any bearing with 'er. So as I couldn't get 'er out of bed, I come up 'ere without 'er. And that's 'ow I found out Mr. Felix was gone.'
"'You were speaking of what took place last night?' said our reporter. 'Your niece, Sophy, came up with you, I understand?'
"'Yes, she did, though she had 'old of me that tight I could 'ardly shake myself free.'
"'Did she come into this room with you?'
"'No, she didn't; she wouldn't put her foot inside it. I left her in the passage while I peeped in. She ain't got the courage of a mouse.'
"'Then she cannot corroborate your statement that the body of M. Felix was here before you went to bed?'
"'Ain't my word enough?'
"'For me it is, but it's different with the police and the public. It is a good job you've put yourself in our hands; there's no telling what trouble you might have got into if you hadn't.'
"'I'll do anything you want me to, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, in great distress. 'It's a providence you come up when I opened the street door.'
"'It is. You are positive the body was on the bed?'
"'If it was the last word I ever had to speak I'd swear to it.'
"'I believe you without swearing,' said our reporter, opening a cupboard door.
"'What are you looking in there for?' asked Mrs. Middlemore. 'Do you think a dead man 'd be able to get up and put 'isself on one of the shelves?'
"'No,' said our reporter, with a smile, 'but let us make sure the body is not in either of the rooms.'
"He looked thoroughly through the apartments, under the bed and the couches, and in every cupboard. Mrs. Middlemore followed his movements with her eyes almost starting out of her head.
"'Even up the chimneys,' he said genially, and he thrust the poker up, and then lit some paper in the stoves to see that the smoke ascended freely and that there was no obstruction.
"'The thoughts you put in one's 'ead,' remarked Mrs. Middlemore, in a terrified voice, is enough to congeal one's blood.'
"'My dear madam,' said our reporter, 'I am only doing what prudence dictates, so that there may be no possible chance of your getting into trouble. Suppose the body should be found in any other part of the house-'
"'But 'ow could it get there?' interrupted Mrs. Middlemore, excitedly.
"'That is more than either you or I can say, any more than we can say how it got out of this room; but out of it it has got, hasn't it?'
"'Nobody can't say nothing different,' assented Mrs. Middlemore.
"'This is altogether such a mysterious affair,' proceeded our reporter, 'that there's no telling what it will lead to. I don't remember a case like it ever occurring in London before. Where was I when you interrupted me? Oh, I was saying, suppose the body should be found in any other part of the house, what would the police say? Why, that for some reason or other-and you may be sure they would put it down to a bad reason-you had removed it for the purpose of concealing it.'
"'Me!' gasped Mrs. Middlemore. What would I do that for?'
"'You wouldn't do it at all, but that's the construction the police would put on it, and after that you wouldn't have a moment's peace. My dear madam, we'll not give them a chance to take away your character; not a stone shall be left unturned. There are rooms above these?'
"'Yes, a lot.'
"'We will have a look through them, and, indeed, through the whole house. It's what the police would do, with the idea that you were a party to some vile plot; it's what I will do, knowing you to be perfectly innocent.'
"He put his design into execution. Accompanied by Mrs. Middlemore, who always kept in the rear, he made a thorough examination of the entire house, from attic to basement, but, as he anticipated, discovered nothing. The last rooms he examined were at the bottom of the house, and it was there he made acquaintance with Mrs. Middlemore's niece Sophy.
"'Is that you, aunt?' the girl called out, from a room adjoining the kitchen.
"'Yes, it's me,' answered Mrs. Middlemore, irascibly. You're a nice lazy slut, you are, to be 'ulking in bed this time of the morning.'
"'I ain't abed, aunt,' said Sophy, making her appearance, 'I'm up; but oh, I'm so sleepy!'
"She came into the kitchen rubbing her eyes, and presenting a general appearance of untidiness which did not speak well for her social training. Her short hair was uncombed, her face unwashed, her frock open at the back, and she had no boots on. She stared hard at our reporter, but was not at all abashed at his presence.
"'I'm a friend of aunt's,' said our reporter. 'You had better finish dressing, light the fire, and give yourself a good wash, and then get breakfast ready. You needn't come upstairs till you're called.'
"He beckoned Mrs. Middlemore out of the room, and they proceeded upstairs to the apartments on the first floor.
"'It will be as well to say nothing before Sophy,' he said. 'Now, if you please, we will go on. It is plain that the body of M. Felix is not in the house; but it must be somewhere. The question is-Where, and how it got there? These rooms were fairly secure before you went to bed last night. Is there a chain on the street door?'
"'Yes.'
"'Did you put it up before you went down to your bedroom?'
"'I puts it up regularly every night.'
"'And you did so last night?'
"'Yes.'
"'And turned the key?'
"'Yes.'
"'Was the door locked and the chain up the first thing this morning?'
"'Yes-no!'
"'What do you mean by that?'
"'I mean I can't remember. I must be sure, mustn't I, sir?'
"'You must be sure, there must not be the possibility of a mistake; this putting up of the chain is one of the points upon which a great deal may hang. Do you mean to tell me that you have any doubt on the subject?'
"'I can't say for certain. I was that upset and bewildered when I found M. Felix gone that I don't remember nothing till you came up to me at the street door. 'Ow I opened it, or 'ow I got it open, I don't remember no more than the dead.'
"'Think a little; it is not longer than half-an-hour since I saw you. Your memory cannot have deserted you in so short a time.'
"'I've got no more memory about it than the babe unborn.'
"'But you must try to have. It is a fact that the chain either was or was not up, that the door either was or was not locked. Sit down and think about it for a minute or two; I will keep quiet while you think.'
"But though the woman obeyed our reporter, and sat down and thought of the matter, or said she did, she declared she could make nothing of it, and had to give it up in despair.
"'It is awkward,' said our reporter, 'to say the least of it. There is no telling what construction may be put upon your loss of memory.'
"'I'm a honest woman, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, looking imploringly at our reporter; 'you'll put in a good word for me?'
"'You may depend upon that, for I am convinced you are honest and innocent, but it is unfortunate. If you should happen to remember, you had best let me know before you tell anyone else.'
"'Yes, sir, I'll promise that. I don't know what I should do without you.'
"'Get yourself into serious trouble, for a certainty, Mrs. Middlemore. You go out for your supper-beer every night?'
"'Yes, every night; I can't do without it.'
"'Beer is a wholesome beverage, if taken in moderation, which I know is the case with you. Did you go out for it last night?'
"'Yes, I did.'
"'Before or after you paid your last visit to these rooms?'
"'Before, sir, before. You think of everything.'
"'It shows that I am doing the best I can for you. Before you came up to these rooms, you had your supper?'
"'Yes.'
"'Sophy had some with you?'
"'Yes. She's got a twist on her has Sophy.'
"'A twist?'
"'An appetite. She eats as much as a Grenadier.'
"'All growing girls do. How old is Sophy?'
"'Fourteen.'
"'Then, when you went downstairs, you and Sophy went to bed?'
"'Yes.'
"'You both sleep in the same room?'
"'Yes.'
"'In the same bed, most likely?'
"'Yes, we do; and the way that girl pulls the clothes off you is a caution.'
"'Did you both go to bed at the same time?'
"'No, I sent 'er before me, and when I went in she was as sound as a top.'
"'Are you a sound sleeper yourself?'
"'I was before this dreadful thing 'appened, but now I pass the most fearful nights.'
"'Dreams?'
"'Awful.'
"'How about last light? Don't answer hastily. This is another important point.'
"Thus admonished, Mrs. Middlemore took time to consider; and no doubt it was with a certain regret that she felt constrained to say, 'I think I must 'ave slept better than ordinary. I was that tired that my legs was fit to drop off me.'
"'You slept very soundly?'
"'I must 'ave done, mustn't I, sir?'
"'That is for you to say. You see, Mrs. Middlemore, the body of M. Felix could not have been removed without a certain noise. Now, if you were awake you must have heard it.'
"'I didn't 'ear nothing. I'll take my Bible oath of it.'
"'At what hour did you wake this morning?'
"'At 'alf-past eight, and I got up at once.'
"'Isn't that rather late for you?'
"'It is, sir, but I've got no one to attend to now.'
"'You were not in any way disturbed in the night?'
"'No, sir.'
"'You positively heard nothing?'
"'Nothing at all.'
"'Did Sophy?'
"'Love your 'eart, sir! Sophy wouldn't wake up if cannon-balls was firing all round her!'
"'As a matter of fact, has she told you she heard nothing last night?'
"'I won't say that. I ain't 'ad time to arks her.'
"'I'll ask her myself if you've no objection. Stop here for me; I shall not be gone long.'
"'I can't stop 'ere alone, sir. I'll come down, and keep in the passage while you speak to Sophy.'
"They went down together, and Mrs. Middlemore remained outside while our reporter entered the kitchen.
"His entrance aroused Sophy, who had been sitting in a chair, apparently asleep, in the same state of untidiness as he had left her. She fell on her knees with a guilty air, and began to rake out the stove, making a great rattle with the poker.
"'Fire not lit yet, Sophy?' said our reporter, much amused.
"She looked up with a sly look, and seeing that he was not going to scold her, rubbed her nose with the poker and smiled boldly at him.
"'Not yet, old 'un,' she replied, making no attempt to continue her work.
"To be addressed as 'old 'un' must have been especially humiliating to our reporter, who is a good-looking fellow of eight-and-twenty, but he did not resent it.
"'Wood won't catch, I suppose,' he said. 'Too damp, eh?'
"'Soppin',' said Sophy, though as a matter of fact there was no wood before her.
"'What are you looking so hard at me for?' asked our reporter. 'You'll make me blush presently.'
"'You blush!' laughed Sophy. 'I like that, I do. Look 'ere, old 'un. When you wants to blush, you'd better 'ire somebody to do it for you. I'll do it for tuppence a time.'
"'You would have to wash your face first,' said our reporter, entering into the humor of the situation.
"'I wouldn't mind doing that,' said Sophy, staring harder than ever at him, 'if you'd make it wuth my while. As for lookin' at you, a cat may look at a king.'
"'I'm not a king,' observed our reporter, 'and you're not a cat.'
"'Call me one, and you'll feel my clors. I'm reckonin' of you up, that's what I'm doing of.'
"'And what do you make of me, Sophy?'
"'I sha'n't tell if you're going to act mean. 'Ansom is that 'ansom does.'
"Our reporter took the hint, and gave the girl a sixpenny-piece.
"'I say,' cried Sophy, greatly excited, as she tried the coin with her teeth. 'Stow larks, you know. Is it a good 'un?'
"'Upon my honor,' said our reporter, placing his hand on his heart, with a mock heroic air.
"'Say upon your soul.'
"'Upon my soul, if you prefer it.'
"'Change it for me, then. I'd sooner 'ave coppers.'
"Our reporter had some in his pocket, and he counted out six into Sophy's grimy palm. A seventh, by accident, fell to the floor. Sophy instantly picked it up.
"'Findin's keepin's,' she said.
"'I'm agreeable. And now what do you make of me?'
"'Wait a bit,' said Sophy. Unblushingly she lifted her frock, and tied the coppers in her ragged petticoat, tightening the knots with her teeth, which were as white as snow. 'That's my money-box, and I've got some more in it. What do I make of you? Oh, I knows what you are. You can't gammon me.'
"'What am I?'
"'You belong to the Perlice Noos, that's what you do. You've come to make pickchers. Pickcher of the 'ouse where the body was found. Pickcher of the room where the body was laid. Pickcher of the body's bed. Pickcher of the body's slippers. Pickcher of Mrs. Middlemore, the body's 'ousekeeper. Oh, I say, make a pickcher of me, will you? I'll buy a copy.'
"'Perhaps, if you're good. But you must answer a question or two first.'
"'All serene. Fire away!'
"'You went upstairs last night with your aunt after you had your supper?'
"'Yes, I did.'
"'You did not go into the rooms?'
"'No, I didn't.'
"'Because you were frightened?'
"'Gammon! It'd take more than that to frighten Sophy.' She added, with a sly look, 'Aunty's easily kidded, she is.'
"'Ah,' said reporter, somewhat mystified, 'then you came down and went to bed?'
"'Yes, I did, and precious glad to get there.'
"'You like your bed, Sophy?'
"'Rather.'
"'And you sleep well?'
"'You bet!'
"'Did you sleep better or worse than usual last night?'
"'No better, and no wus.'
"'Did you wake up in the night?'
"'Not me!'
"'Then you heard no noise?'
"'Where?'
"'Anywhere.'
"'I didn't 'ear nothink. 'Ow could I?'
"'Thank you, Sophy. That is all for the present.'
"'I say,' cried Sophy, as our reporter was about to leave the kitchen, 'you'll take my pickcher, won't you?'
"'I'll think about it. I'll see you another time, Sophy; and look here,' added our reporter, who is never known to throw a chance away, 'here's my card; take care of it, and if you find out anything that you think I'd like to know about M. Felix, come and tell me, and you shall be well paid for it. You'll not forget?'
"'No, I won't forgit. Anythink about M. Felix, do you mean?'
"'Yes, anything.'
"'All right, old 'un. I'll choo it over.' Here Sophy dropped her voice, and asked, 'Is Aunt outside?'
"'Yes. Can you keep a secret?'
"'Try me,' said Sophy, holding out the little finger of her left hand.
"'What am I to do with this?'
"'Pinch my nail as 'ard as you can. Never mind 'urting me. As 'ard as ever you can.
"Our reporter complied, and Sophy went audibly through the entire alphabet, from A to Y Z.
"'There,' said Sophy, 'did I scream when I came to O?'
"'You did not,' said our reporter, remembering the child's game. 'You bore it like a brick.'
"'Don't that show I can keep a secret?'
"'It does. Well, then, don't tell your aunt that I gave you my card, or asked you to come and see me.'
"'I'm fly.'
"Giving him a friendly wink, Sophy went on her knees, and made a pretence of being very hard at work cleaning the grate. The last words he heard were:
"'Pickcher of Sophy wearin' 'erself to skin and bone. Ain't I busy?'"