The Mystery of M. Felix

"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."

CHAPTER XIV.

SOPHY IMPARTS STRANGE NEWS TO THE REPORTER OF THE "EVENING MOON."

"The chambers occupied by our reporter are situated at the extreme river end of one of the streets leading from the Strand to the Embankment. They are at the top of the house, on the third floor, and a capacious bow-window in his sitting-room affords a good view of the river and the Embankment gardens. He describes his chambers as an ideal residence, and declares he would not exchange it for a palace. In daytime the view from his bow-window is varied and animated, in night-time the lights and shadows on the Thames are replete with suggestion. From this window he has drawn the inspiration for many admirable articles which have appeared in our columns, in which his play of fancy illumines his depiction of a busy city's life.

"He let himself in with his latch-key, and Sophy followed close on his heels up the silent stairs. On the third floor another latch-key admitted them to the privacy of his chambers.

"'It will be dark for a moment, Sophy,' he said; 'you are not frightened, I hope?'

"'Not a bit,' replied Sophy.

"It may not be unworthy of remark that she never again addressed him as 'old 'un, which he ascribed to the little incident of the purchase of the pair of boots. It had raised him to an altitude which rendered so familiar an appellation out of place.

"In less than a minute he had lit the gas in his sitting-room, and Sophy stood gazing around in wonder and delight. Our reporter is a gentleman of taste, no mere grub working from hand to mouth. He entered the ranks of journalism from choice, and possesses a private income which renders him independent of it; thus he is enabled to surround himself with luxuries which are out of the reach of the ordinary rank and file of his brother workers, who one and all have a good word for him because of the kindnesses they have on numerous occasions received at his hands.

"Sophy looked round on the books and pictures and valuable objects with which the room was literally packed, and her appreciation-little as she understood them-was expressed in her eyes.

"'This is my den, Sophy,' said our reporter. 'What do you think of it?'

"As he spoke he applied a lighted match to a couple of bachelor's wheels in the stove, and in an instant a cheerful fire was glowing.

"'Well, I never!' exclaimed Sophy. 'It's magic.'

"'No, Sophy, sober fact. Single life nowadays is filled with innumerable conveniences to keep a fellow from the path of matrimony. This little bachelor's wheel'-holding one up-'is a formidable foe to anxious mammas with marriageable daughters. But I am talking above you, Sophy; pardon the flight. Go to the window there; you will see the river from it.'

"He stood by her side while she gazed upon the wonderful sight, too little appreciated by those who are familiar with it. The moon was shining brightly, and the heavens were dotted with stars; long lines of lights were shining in the water, animated as it were with a mysterious spiritual life by the shifting currents of the river. It was at this moment that Sophy gave expression to a remarkable effort at grammar.

"'I say, 'ow 'igh the Thames are!'

"Our reporter was amused, and did not correct her. 'Yes, Sophy, the river has reached an unusual height. And now, little one, as time is flying, let us proceed to business.'

"Sophy, brought down to earth, retired from the window, and stood by the table, at which our reporter seated himself. He could not prevail upon her to take a chair.

"'I can talk better standing,' she said. 'Before I tell what I got to tell, I'd like to know wot aunt said of me when you and 'er was up in Mr. Felix's rooms this morning. You know. When I'd jest got out of bed.'

"'Nothing very particular, Sophy,' said our reporter, 'except that you were a sound sleeper.'

"'You arksed 'er that?' said Sophy, shrewdly.

"'Yes, You see, Sophy, I was naturally anxious to learn all I could of the strange disappearance of M. Felix's body. It was there last night when you and your aunt went to bed; it was not there this morning when you got up.'

"'Aunt couldn't tell yer much.'

"'She could tell me nothing. She went to bed, and though she has passed bad nights this week-'

"'Oh, she sed that, did she?'

"'Yes.'

"'Meaning that she don't sleep much?'

"'Yes, that undoubtedly was her meaning.'

"'Well, go on, please,' said Sophy.

"'Though she has passed bad nights lately, it was a fact that last night she slept very soundly. Then the idea occurred to me to come down and ask you whether you had heard anything in the night-because, you know, Sophy, that M. Felix's body could not have disappeared from the house without some sound being made. We do not live in an age of miracles. The body could not have flown up the chimney, or made its way through thick walls. There is only one way it could have been got out, and that was through the street door.'

"'Right you are,' said Sophy.

"'Now, Sophy, I am sure you are a sensible little girl, and that I can open my mind freely to you.'

"'You can that. I ain't much to look at, but I ain't quite a fool neither.'

"'I am certain you are not. I cannot tell you how deeply I am interested in this mysterious affair, and how much I desire to get at the bottom of it. Whoever assists me to do this will not repent it, and somehow or other I have an idea that you can help me. If you can, I will be a real good friend to you.'

"You've been that already, the best I ever sor. I took you in once this morning, and I ain't going to do it agin.'

"'How did you take me in, Sophy?'

"'I told yer I didn't wake up last night, didn't I?'

"'You did, Sophy.'

"'And that I didn't 'ear no noise?'

"'Yes.'

"'They was crammers. I did wake up in the middle of the night, and I did 'ear a noise.'

"'Sophy,' said our reporter, repressing his excitement as well as he could, 'I feel that you are going to do me a good turn.'

"'Aunt's a awful liar,' said Sophy.

"'Is she?'

"'She ses she sleeps light, and I sleep sound. It's all the other way. She goes to bed and drops off like the snuff of a candle, and she snores like a pig. I sleep on and off like. I don't let aunt know it, 'cause I don't want to be rushed out of bed till I've a mind to git up, so I pretend to be fast asleep, and I let her shake me as much as she likes. I do not lay snuggled up; and I was laying like that last night all the while aunt was snoring fit to shake the 'ouse down, when I 'eerd wot sounded like somethink movin' upstairs. I wasn't scared-yer don't know Sophy if yer think that. "I'll see what it is," thinks I, "if I die for it." So I creeps out of bed, and stands quiet a bit in the dark, without moving.'

"'You are a brave little girl, Sophy, and I am proud of you.'

"'I stands listening and wondering, and the sound of somethink moving upstairs goes on. Moving quite soft, sir, jest as if it didn't want to be 'eerd. "Blowed if I don't go up," thinks I, "and find out wot it's all about." I wouldn't light a candle, 'cause that might wake aunt, and I wanted to 'ave it all to myself. Well, sir, I creeps to the door in my bare feet and opens it, and goes into the passage. Sure enough, I ain't deceived; there is somethink on the stairs. Up I creeps, as soft as a cat, feeling my way by the bannisters, till I git to the passage that leads to the street-door. Then somethink 'appens to me that upsets the applecart. I ketches my toe agin a nail, and I screams out. But that's nothink to what follers. A 'and claps itself on my mouth, and somebody ses, "If yer move or speak out loud I'll kill yer!" If I sed I wasn't frightened at that I'd be telling yer the biggest crammer of the lot, but I pulls myself together, and I whispers under my breath, "Wot is it? Burgulers?" "Yes," ses the voice, "burgulers, as'll 'ave yer blood if yer don't do as yer told." "I'll do everythink yer want," I ses, "if yer don't 'urt me. My blood won't do yer a bit o' good; it ain't much good to me as I knows on. Is there more than one of yer?" "There's a band of us," ses the voice. "Who's downstairs?" "Only aunt," I ses. "Ain't there nobody else in the 'ouse?" arsks the voice. "Not a blessed soul," ses I, "excep' the corpse on the fust floor." "Take yer oath on it," ses the voice. "I 'ope I may never move from this spot alive," ses I, "if it ain't the truth I'm telling of yer!"

"Now jest listen to me," ses the voice. "You do as yer told, or you'll be chopped into ten thousan' little bits. Set down on the stairs there, and shut yer eyes, and don't move or speak till you 'ear a whistle; it won't be a loud 'un, but loud enough for you to 'ear. Then you git up, and shut the street-door softly-you'll find it open-and lock it and put up the chain. Then go downstairs without speaking a word, and if yer aunt's awake and arsks yer wot's the matter, say nothink; if she's asleep, don't wake her. When she gits up in the morning don't say nothink to 'er, and don't answer no questions about us. You understand all that?" "Every word on it," I ses. "And yer'll do as yer ordered?" ses the voice. "Yes, I will," I ses. "Mind yer do," ses the voice, "or somethink orful 'll 'appen to yer. You'll be watched the 'ole day long, and if yer let on, look out for yerself. Now set yerself down on the stairs." I did, sir, and though I was froze almost to a stone, I never moved or spoke. It was that dark that I couldn't see a inch before my nose, even when I opened my eyes slyly, but I couldn't 'elp 'earing wot was going on. There was a creeping, and a bumping, and the sound of the street-door being unlocked and the chain being took down. Then everythink was quiet agin inside, and all I 'eerd was a policeman in the street outside, trying the doors as he passed on. When he'd got well out of the street, as near as I could tell, the street-door was opened without as much as a creak, and in another minute I 'eerd a low whistle. Then I got up; it was all a job, sir, 'cause I was cramped, but I managed it, and I crep' to the street-door, and shut it, and locked it, and put the chain up. I was glad enough to do it, I can tell yer, and I felt my way downstairs and got into bed. Aunt 'adn't as much as moved, and nobody knew nothink but me and the burgulers. That's all I know about last night.'

"It was enough, in all conscience; a strange story indeed, and related by such a common little waif as Sophy. Our reporter had not interrupted her once, but allowed her to proceed, in her own quaint and original way, to the end.

"'And you have told nobody but me, Sophy?' asked our reporter.

"'It ain't crossed my lips till this minute,' replied Sophy. 'I don't know wot I might 'ave done if I 'adn't seed you this morning. You spoke civil and nice to me, and I took to yer in a minute. Yer might 'ave knocked me down with a feather when I 'eered arter you'd gone wot the burgulers' little game was, and it come to me in a jiffy that you'd like to know wot 'ad become of Mr. Felix's body. "I'll wait till I see 'im agin," ses I to myself, "and then I'll tell 'im all about it." If you 'adn't come to aunt's to-night I should 'ave come to you.'

"'I am infinitely obliged to you,' said our reporter, 'We'll keep the matter to ourselves at present, and if there's any reward offered for the recovery of the body, or for any information that may lead to its recovery, it shall be yours, Sophy, every farthing of it.'

"Sophy's eyes glistened as she said, 'If they arsks me, then, why I adn't spoke before, I'll tell 'em I was too frightened by wot the burguler sed he'd do to me if I sed anythink about it.'

"'That excuse will do nicely. Did you hear the sound of many feet?'

"'I think it was only one man as was moving about,' replied Sophy, after a little consideration.

"'How do we account, then, for there being more than one man concerned in this singular robbery?'

"'Per'aps there wasn't more than one,' suggested Sophy quickly, 'and in course he 'ad to carry the body. It couldn't walk of itself, being dead.'

"'Quite so, my young logician-a compliment Sophy. Before you put up the chain, did you look out into the street?'

"'I didn't dare to.'

"'Then you don't know if there was a cab or a cart waiting at the door?'

"'I don't, sir.'

"'Did you hear the sound of wheels moving away after the door was secured?'

"'No, I didn't. Everythink was as still as still can be, inside and out.'

"'There must have been a vehicle of some sort, however, stationed near. A man couldn't carry a dead body through the streets very far without being caught. Perhaps he would not allow it to stand too near your aunt's house for fear of suspicion being excited. The natural conclusion is that a growler was engaged, and that it walked slowly to and fro in a given direction till he came up to it.'

"'That must 'ave been it, sir.'

"'If I give you five shillings, Sophy, can you take care of it?'

"'Rather! But you've done enough for me to-night, sir.'

"'Not half enough, my girl. Here's the money.'

"From the expression on Sophy's face she would have liked to resist the temptation, but it was too strong for her, so she took the two half-crowns, saying gleefully as she tied them in her money-box, I shall soon 'ave enough to buy wot I want.'

"'What is it you desire so particularly, Sophy? A new frock?'

"'No,' she replied. 'I want a pair of tights.'

"'In heaven's name, what for?'

"'To see 'ow I look in 'em.' Sophy glanced down at her legs, then stood straight up and walked a few steps this way and a few steps that, in glowing anticipation of the delights in store for her.