The Mystery of M. Felix

"'I am a properly qualified solicitor,' said our reporter, 'and I shall appear for her, and shall also offer myself as an eye-witness of the affair. I shall support her in her statement that she had no intention of committing suicide.'

"'I can't help that, sir,' said the policeman, with respectful pertinacity, 'I can only report what I saw, and I must do my duty. She nearly fell into the river; I hope you won't deny that, sir.'

"'I will not deny it. You are speaking now quite fairly and temperately, and I hope to bring you round to my view.'

"'To let her off, sir?'

"'Yes.'

"'I can't do it, sir.'

"'But listen to reason. She accidentally lost her balance-'

"'And,' interposed the policeman, 'would have fallen in had it not been for us.'

"'That does not establish a charge of an attempt at suicide.'

"'It must be looked into, sir,' said the policeman, stiffly.

"'It seems to me,' said the second policeman, 'that it all depends upon what it was she threw into the river.'

"Without asking permission our reporter stepped aside with the woman, and spoke privately to her. She had listened to the conversation in an agonized state of mind, turning her eyes alternately to her accuser and her defender with the air of one who was being hunted down. Helpless, despairing innocence was depicted in her face, and the favorable impression she had produced upon our reporter was strengthened. Had she not in his belief been connected in a manner yet to be explained with the Mystery of M. Felix he would have been inclined to champion her cause, and because of this belief he would have ranked himself on her side even if he had supposed that the charges brought against her were true. Without a shade of doubt she was a lady; her attire, although it bore no indications of worldly prosperity, her manners, her speech, unmistakably proclaimed the fact. She was apparently a little over forty years of age, and there were traces of long-endured suffering on her features. In her youth she must have possessed remarkable beauty, which even now could not fail in attracting attention; her figure was slight and graceful, her movements gentle and refined. These signs rendered her appearance at such an hour and under such circumstances sufficiently perplexing, but our reporter was satisfied to trust to the future for a satisfactory explanation of what at present, to a vulgar mind, was full of suspicion.

"In stating that he was a properly qualified solicitor our reporter stated a simple fact. He had served articles in a solicitor's office, and had abandoned that profession for one which possessed greater attractions for him.

"It occurred to him to test her, and he addressed her in French. She replied to him in the same language, but with an accent which put his to the blush. We shall, however, give what passed between them in our native tongue, for the sake of perfect clearness, and in the interests of those of our readers who may not be familiar with any other language than their own.

"'You have not deceived me?' he asked.

"'Indeed, indeed, I have not,' she replied, earnestly. 'I have spoken the truth. You will not desert me?'

"'I will not. You may count upon me as a sincere friend; but you must confide in me implicitly. I will serve you honestly and faithfully. You have met with misfortunes?'

"'Great misfortunes. I am a most unhappy woman!'

"'Have you any other friends in London in whom you would confide in preference to me? If you have and will give me their names and addresses, I will bring them to you.'

"'I have no other friend in this city in whom I can confide.'

"'Not one who can assist you?'

"'Not one.'

"'Are you quite unknown here?'

"'Yes.'

"'But surely you are not entirely alone?'

"She made an effort to speak, but words failed her; she raised her imploring eyes to his face.

"'Strive to master your agitation,' he continued, 'and bend your mind upon the position in which you stand. You heard what the policeman said?'

"'Yes.'

"'Will you tell them what it was you threw into the river?'

"'I cannot tell them. It might injure-it might ruin me.'

"'Was it property of your own?'

"'It was.'

"'To which no person but yourself has a claim?'

"'It was my own; no person but myself has a claim to it.'

"'The loss or recovery of which would injure no one?'

"'No one but myself.'

"'Now, consider. You will be taken to the police station and charged.'

"'But they will let me go until to-morrow?'

"'They will not. If I, a stranger to you, offered bail, it would not be accepted. You will be locked up till the morning.'

"'My God!' cried the woman. 'What will become of her-oh, what will become of her?'

"'Of her? Then you are not entirely alone in this city?'

"'I have a daughter,' she said, in a low, despairing tone. 'She will be distracted if I do not return to her to-night.'

"'As I have explained to you, that is out of the question. If you are not unwilling, I will go to her and explain matters.'

"'No, no!' cried the woman. 'She must not know the truth! What have I done that this misfortune should fall upon me?'

"'I feel deeply for you. If I knew how I could inspire you with confidence in me I should be glad. Look at me and say whether you cannot trust implicitly in me.'

"They gazed at each other in silence for many moments. The policemen, standing apart, did not interrupt them, and as they spoke in French, could not have understood if they had heard what was passing. The woman put out her hand timidly.

"'I will trust you,' she said. 'It may be that the good Lord has sent me a friend when I most needed one. By the memory of all that is dearest to you, do not betray me!'

"'I swear solemnly that I will not.'

"The pressure of her hand seemed to instil faith in her. All the earnestness of her soul was expressed in the words she now spoke.

"'I give into your charge what is infinitely more precious than life-my honor, and my dear daughter's happiness. May Heaven so deal by you as you deal by me!'

"'I am content,' said our reporter.

"At this juncture the first policeman thought he had allowed sufficient time for a decision.

"'Time presses, sir,' he said.

"'Then we had better go to the station,' said our reporter, 'if you persist in your ridiculous charge.'

"'There is nothing else for me to do, sir,' said the policeman.

"'You have no objection to my walking by the side of this lady, keeping yourself out of hearing. I wish to receive instructions from her.'

"'Give me your word, sir, that there will be no attempt at escape.'

"'There shall not be.'

"'It's all right,' said the second policeman, 'you may take the gentleman's word for a good deal more than that. You won't want me.'

"He left them, and our reporter and the woman, preceded by the policeman, who occasionally looked over his shoulder to see that they were following him, walked to the Bow Street Police Station."

CHAPTER XVI.
AT THE BOW STREET POLICE STATION

"'We have but little time for uninterrupted conversation,' said our reporter, still speaking in French, 'and must make the best of it. At the station we shall not be private, as we are now. An explanation is due from me first. I am, as you have heard, a properly qualified solicitor, and can therefore defend you legally, although at present I see little to defend. But the fact that I am your authorized legal adviser should strengthen your confidence in me, for whatever information of a secret nature I receive from you I am bound professionally to respect. You see, therefore, that your interests are safe in my hands.'

"'I am truly grateful to you,' said the woman.

"'Intended for the Law,' continued our reporter, 'I do not follow it as a profession. I am a journalist, engaged upon the Evening Moon. You start. The fact of my being so engaged should still further increase your confidence in me. Now, perhaps, you can understand why I am so much interested in the advertisement cut from our paper which you carry about with you. May I accept it that you have read what has been published in the Evening Moon concerning the death and strange disappearance of M. Felix?'

"'I have read all that has appeared in the paper,' said the woman, who was paying the closest attention to what he was saying,

"'Thank you for the frank admission. To my hands has been entrusted the task of clearing up this strange affair, and of bringing it forward to the full light of day. That is only a portion of my mission. I have taken it upon myself to so sift the matter to the bottom, that, if any innocent person has been wronged, his innocence shall be made clear, and also to punish the guilty. Where there is mystery there is generally crime, and where there is crime the presumption is that innocent beings have been brought to sorrow. Whether right Or wrong, I have the firmest conviction that there is some story of wrong-doing underlying this mystery, and if I am right-which time and good fortune can alone establish-this wrong-doing must have inflicted suffering upon innocent persons. In opening my mind to you upon these issues I may be, in your estimation, speaking at random of details of which you are ignorant, and indeed of details which exist only in my imagination, and have no foundation in fact; but I take the chance of that, believing that no harm can be done by a perfectly open confession of the motives which are urging me on in the elucidation of a mystery which has caused, and still is causing, a great deal of excitement. You will now understand why the discovery surprised me that you should have taken the trouble to so carefully preserve the advertisement which slipped from your pocket. It would scarcely have been done by one whom it did not in some way concern, and it remains to you to enlighten me upon this point. Let me assure you that the advertisement was inserted in good faith, and that its terms will be scrupulously observed. Legal assistance is offered, and will be given, and money will be spent if any good purpose can be served by it. That is all I have time to say in explanation of the interest, to you in all probability the singular interest, I have taken in our meeting to-night. The whole of this evening I have been engaged in following up a clew connected with the disappearance of the body of M. Felix, of which, as you read the Evening Moon, you are doubtless aware.'

"'Yes,' said the woman, 'I have read of it.'

"'I am on the track, and I venture to affirm that I shall eventually succeed in my purpose. I have already more than one ally. May I hope that I have gained another?'

"'I do not know,' said the woman, and though they were walking now through unlighted spaces and he could not see her face, our reporter divined from her broken tones that she was crying. 'I cannot say. All is dark before me; there is not a star in the future to light me on my way.'

"'Do not give up hope,' said our reporter. 'I am by your side to help you. You and your daughter, two women, alone in London as I understand, without a friend, can do very little, but an earnest, willing man, who has influence and means to back him up, may do much.'

"In his sincere sympathy our reporter pressed the woman's arm, and she uttered an exclamation of pain.

"Have I hurt you?' he asked, hurriedly.

"'My arm has been injured,' replied the woman, biting her lip so that she should not repeat the cry; 'it has been cut to the bone.'

"'I am very sorry. Is it your left arm?'

"'Yes.'

"'Was it recently done? – but I beg your pardon for questioning you so closely.'

"'You have the right to question me. It was done a few days ago.'

"'You are unfortunate in more ways than one.'

"'Truly, truly,' sighed the woman. 'Your voice, your words are kind, but I can think of nothing but my dear child. She is waiting for me, expecting me, listening for my footsteps on the stairs. If I could escape-if I could get away unseen!'

"'You must not dream of it; you would plunge yourself into deeper trouble; and my word is pledged.'

"'Yes, yes, I forgot; I am ungrateful.'

"'I will do all I can for you at the Police Station; if it is possible, you shall in a few minutes go to your daughter; but I must not disguise from you the chances are very small.'

"'But you will try-you will try?'

"'Yes, I will try; I will stand bail for you; I can do no more just now.'

"'You have done much, more than I can repay. If they are cruel enough to detain me, how long shall I have to wait?'

"'Till to-morrow morning. You will be brought up before a magistrate.'

"'It is a terrible disgrace, a terrible, terrible disgrace! But they cannot punish me if I have done nothing wrong?'

"'No, they cannot punish you unless they can prove something against you which will render you liable.'

"'Can they upon suspicion?'

"'Upon mere suspicion, no.'

"'When I appear before the magistrate, will you be there?'

"'You may rely upon me. I shall be there to represent you legally, as I am willing now to assist you privately. We are near the station. Have you nothing more to say to me?'

"'Did you tell me that I should be searched at the station, or is it only my fear?'

"'It is almost certain you will be searched.'

"'They must find nothing upon me; they must not know who I am, or my daughter's happiness is wrecked.'

"Hastily and stealthily she extracted from her pocket a key, a purse and a handkerchief, and slipped them into his hands. As hastily and stealthily he slipped them into his own pocket. The policeman had not observed the proceeding.

"'Will you not require you handkerchief?' asked our reporter.

"'I must do without it. My initials are worked upon it, and it might lead to my identification. They must not, they must not know!'

"This remark would have seriously disturbed our reporter if he had not made up his mind to believe thoroughly, for the time being, everything the woman told him, and to leave it to the future to decide whether she was or was not deceiving him.

"'Should I be detained,' said the woman, 'you will go to my daughter and assure her I am in no danger?'

"'I will go with pleasure.'

"'You will not wait till morning? You will go at once?'

"'I will go straight from the station.'

"'Heaven reward you! Believe a suffering, much-wronged woman, sir, your confidence is not misplaced.'

"They had not time to exchange another word; they were at the station door.

"The Inspector was within, taking the night charges, and our reporter saw with satisfaction that it was an officer with whom he was acquainted.

"'Good-evening, Mr. Jealous,' he said.

"Inspector Jealous looked up. 'Hallo,' he said, 'what brings you here?'

"'I come on behalf of this lady,' replied our reporter, 'against whom a policeman on duty on the Thames Embankment has a groundless charge to make.'

"The Inspector's eyes wandered from our reporter to the lady. The policeman came forward and laid his charge in a temperate manner. Inspector Jealous listened in silence.

"'I thought at first,' said the policeman, 'that it was a child she had thrown into the river, but the gentleman here thinks the other way, and he is as likely to be right as I am. Of her attempt at suicide I am certain.'

"'That is a distinct charge,' said Inspector Jealous, dipping his pen in the ink. 'The bundle, whatever it is, can, I dare say, be recovered.' He called a constable, and gave him some whispered instructions; after which the man left the office. 'You can join him presently on the Embankment. Do you know the woman?' Pinned to formula, Inspector Jealous ignored our reporter's reference to her as a lady.

"'Look up,' said our reporter to the woman; 'you have nothing to be ashamed of.'

"Thus assured and comforted the woman raised her face, so that everyone in the office could see it clearly. Tears were hanging on her eyelids, and there was a piteous expression upon the trembling mouth.

"'I don't know her,' said the policeman, honestly.

"The constables in the office craned their necks, then shook their heads.

"'She's no better than she ought to be! She's no better than I am! I'm as good as her any day of the week! Go to blazes, the lot of yer!'

"The interruption came from a tipsy woman sitting on a bench. Inspector Jealous made a slight motion with his head, and the tipsy creature was taken away. Then Inspector Jealous turned to our reporter.

"'I have nothing to say against the constable making the charge,' said our reporter; 'he has performed his duty conscientiously, only he is mistaken. I was an eyewitness of the affair, and I say that there was nothing thrown in the river that the lady had not a right to throw into it-the property being her own-and that she did not attempt to commit suicide. Under these circumstances I trust you will not subject her to the indignity of being locked up. She will appear in the morning; I will be her recognizance.'

"Inspector Jealous nodded his head, and began to dissect.

"'What was in the bundle?' he asked of our reporter.

"'I have told you,' replied our reporter, feeling himself immediately at a disadvantage; 'her own property.'

"'What was its nature?'

"Manifestly this was a question which our reporter could not answer.

"'You must excuse my asking,' said the Inspector, 'how you come to know it was her property?'

"'She told me as much.'

"This time, instead of nodding his head, Inspector Jealous shook it.

"'I am afraid I cannot accept that. What is her name?'

"Another question which our reporter could not answer.

"'Where does she live?' pursued the logical and inexorable Inspector.

"Our reporter felt the ground slipping from under him. These two or three simple questions were like sledge-hammer blows, and he was staggered.

"'Surely,' he said, lamely parrying, 'you do not question my honesty in the matter?'

"'Not for a moment,' said Inspector Jealous, with perfect good temper, 'but you must see yourself how it stands. Here is a direct charge made-'

"'And denied,' interposed our reporter.

"'Exactly,' assented Inspector Jealous; 'but it is usual, you know, to deny such charges, and the authority to decide which side is right is not vested in me. There is not only the charge of attempted suicide, but there is that bundle that was thrown into the river. I am very sorry, but-'

"He did not finish the sentence, but there was no misunderstanding his meaning.

"'You must submit,' said our reporter to the woman, and then turned to Inspector Jealous. 'I may have a few private words with her, I suppose, out of hearing of the officers present?'

"'Certainly,' replied Inspector Jealous, 'after I have entered the charge; and although I shall be compelled to detain her here, I promise to make her as comfortable as possible for the night.'

"'Thank you,' said our reporter; 'I was about to ask you to do so.'

"Only one charge was entered in the book, that of attempted suicide, the constable's suspicions as to the bundle the woman threw into the river being deemed of too vague a nature to frame an accusation upon.

"'Your name?' asked the Inspector of the woman.

"At this question she was seized with a sudden trembling; her white face grew whiter; her hands wandered feebly, aimlessly around, and had it not been for the support afforded her by our reporter, who held her up, she might have fallen insensible to the ground.

"'Do not give way,' he whispered, 'think of your daughter.'"

CHAPTER XVII.
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY

"These words strengthened her, and she drew herself up.

"'Your name?' again asked Inspector Jealous.

"'Mrs. Weston,' she replied, with a certain hesitation, and a sudden color in her face.

"'Christian name?'

"'Mary,' said the woman, with a similar exhibition of unreadiness and confusion.

"'Mary Weston,' said Inspector Jealous. The equivocal signs were not lost upon him, but he made no comment. 'Married?'

"'I decline to answer.'

"Inspector Jealous merely nodded, and entered her reply in the book.

"'Where do you live?'

"'I will not tell you. You cannot compel me.' No defiance was expressed in her tone; it was imploring and appealing.

"'No,' said Inspector Jealous, 'we cannot compel you.'

"Then she was taken away to be searched, the report being that she had no property of any kind upon her person; 'not even a handkerchief,' was the remark.

"'That is all,' said Inspector Jealous to our reporter. 'She will be brought up to-morrow morning. If you are going to appear for her, eleven o'clock will be early enough.'

"With his consent our reporter then took the woman aside.

"'Tell me now what I can do for you,' he asked.

"'You will find my address on a card in my purse,' she replied. 'It is a long distance, two or three miles, think-'

"'I don't mind that.'

"'You need not knock or ring at the street door; the key I gave you will open it. But the passage will be dark when you enter it.'

"'I have matches with me. I shall find my way all right.'

"'Our rooms are on the first floor. My daughter will be awake. Do not alarm her by knocking loudly on the door.'

"'I will tap very gently. Go on.'

"'I do not know what you will say to her at first. A stranger-and at this late hour of the night-'

"'Do not agitate yourself. I will use my best skill and all my kindness to assure her that I come as a friend.'

"'I am sure you will, I am sure you will,' said the woman, taking his hand and kissing it. 'Heaven has been good to me to send me such a friend!'

"'Look at it in that light. What shall I say to your daughter after her first surprise is over? Do you not think you had better give me a few lines to her?'

"'Can I write them here?'

"'I think so; I will ask the Inspector.'

"He had no difficulty in obtaining permission, and was supplied with a sheet of note-paper and an envelope. Then the woman wrote:

quot;'My Darling Child, – The gentleman who brings this is a friend, a true friend, and I send this note by his hand to allay your fears at my absence. I cannot explain now why I do not come home to-night, but I will do so to-morrow when I return. Do not expect me till the afternoon, and do not be in the least alarmed about me. All is well, and there is hope in the future. God bless you, my darling. With fondest love,

;"'Your Devoted Mother.'"

"She gave the note to our reporter to read, and then put it in the envelope. On the envelope she wrote simply the name, 'Constance.'

"'She will be certain to question me,' said our reporter.

"'You have only to tell her that I desired you to say nothing, and that I wished to have the pleasure myself of communicating good news to her upon my return to-morrow. That will satisfy her. She loves me, has faith in me. Good news! Alas, alas!'

"'Keep up your courage. They will treat you kindly here for my sake, and you will see me in the morning. The few hours will soon pass.'

"'It will seem an eternity.'

"Feeling that it would be useless to prolong the interview, and anxious to go upon his errand, our reporter bade her good-night with a friendly pressure of the hand, commended her to the care of the kind Inspector, and left the station. He walked a little way into the Strand before he stopped to look at the card in the woman's purse; had he done so in Bow Street, a policeman might have seen him and reported the action, as he had just left the police station. By the light of a street lamp he read the address, 21 Forston Street, Kentish Town. There was no name on the card, but as there was no other writing in the purse he knew that this must be the address to which he was to go. He hailed a cab, and bade the man drive quickly.

"His compulsory examination of the purse had led to a knowledge of its contents-a small key and two pounds four shillings in gold and silver, in addition to the card. He thought himself justified in looking at the handkerchief which the woman had given him. It was of fine cambric, and in one corner were the initials E. B. According to the woman's statement, these were the initials of her name which she wished to keep from the eyes of the policeman, so that they might not lead to her identification. Then the name she gave to Inspector Jealous was false; she was not Mary Weston.

"This discovery would have damped the ardor of a less sympathetic and enthusiastic man than our reporter, and would have instilled in him a feeling of distrust. But our reporter is made of exceptional stuff, and the discrepancy did not weaken his faith in her. She had been frank with him; she had told him that she desired to keep her name from the knowledge of the police; the hesitation with which she had given the false name in the police station proved that she was not an adept in duplicity; and in addition, his brief association with her had inspired him with so much pity and confidence that it would have needed stronger evidence to shake him. The longer he thought of her, the firmer was his conviction that she was a lady of gentle culture, who had by some strange means been thrown into a cruel position, in which she had suffered some deep wrong. This in itself might not have been powerful enough to induce him to champion her cause, but what wooed and fixed him irresistibly was the strong impression that there existed between her and M. Felix a link which, found, would lead to the clearing up of the mystery.

"As the cab drew up at 21 Forston Street, Kentish Town, our reporter looked at his watch. It was two o'clock." Paying the cabman and dismissing him, our reporter paused a moment to consider his position and its surroundings.

"The street was very quiet; not a soul was visible. The houses in it struck the mean between rich and poor; some were two, some were three stories in height, and the rents (our reporter is a judge in such matters) would vary between forty and sixty pounds a year. This was sufficiently respectable, and he was pleased that his errand had not landed him in a poorer locality.

"But two o'clock in the morning. A strange hour to present himself for the first time, and under such suspicious circumstances, to a young lady waiting in anxious suspense for the return of her mother. It must be done, however, and the sooner done the better. He took out the latch key, opened the street door, closed it behind him, and stood in the dark passage. He did not wait now; he knew that he must go straight on with his task. Therefore he lit a match, and by the aid of its light made his way to the first floor landing. There were two doors, one a side door which he supposed led to the smaller room, the other a larger door facing him, through the crevices in which he saw the gleam of a lamp or candle. He knocked gently, and waited, holding in his hand the purse, the latch key, the handkerchief, and the letter which the woman had given him.

"Expedition now did not rest with him; it rested with the occupant of the chamber to which he desired admittance. But his gentle tapping, repeated again and again, met with no response. What should he do? To continue tapping, or to knock aloud, would arouse other inmates, and would subject him to an awkward examination. There was nothing for it but to try the handle. It turned in his hand, and the door was open.

"Still he paused upon the threshold, and said in his softest tones, 'Miss Constance! Miss Constance!' He received no reply, but heard a gentle breathing. Boldly he entered the room, and pushed the door behind him, but did not quite close it.

"There was a lamp alight on the table, and before it a book, the pages of which were divided and held apart by a miniature in a gold frame. Leaning back in a chair, one arm hanging listlessly down, the other resting on the table, the fingers just touching the miniature, was a young girl, the beauty of whose face was positively startling. Rather dark than fair, with features cut in the Greek mould, and long eyelashes veiling the sleeping eyes, with lips slightly parted, the picture was one upon which an artist would have loved to dwell. Her loosened hair, which was of a rich brown, hung upon her shoulders, but did not hide the exquisitely shaped ears; her hands were small and white, and the foot in a worked slipper which peeped beneath her dress was as beautifully formed. In silence our reporter gazed and admired.

"Truly puzzled was he how to act in a dilemma so bewildering. It was a contingency for which he had not mentally provided. Here he stood, a stranger, at two o'clock in the morning, in the presence of a young and lovely girl whose eyes had never rested on his face. What on earth was he to do?

"Her age could not have been more than seventeen or eighteen, and her likeness to the woman he had left in the Bow Street Police Station, left no room to doubt that she was her daughter, the Constance he had come to see. He coughed, and shuffled his feet, and shifted a chair, but these movements did not arouse the sleeping beauty. She slept calmly on, her bosom gently rising and falling as she breathed.

"He ventured to approach close to the table. The book the young girl had been reading was Scott's 'Ivanhoe,' and the miniature lying on the page was that of a young man, presumably of the better class. There was something singular in the aspect of this young man's eyes; they were open, but there was a vacant expression in them which, upon examining them more closely, led our reporter to suppose that the possessor was blind.

"As his movements were ineffective in arousing the young girl to consciousness, our reporter, without any distinct idea as to how he should proceed with his task, laid the purse, the key, and the handkerchief on the table close to the girl's hand. He retained the letter.

"Every moment that passed increased the awkwardness of his position, and he now ventured to touch the sleeper's arm. She moved slightly in her chair, and shifted the hand that rested upon the table so that it reached the miniature. Her fingers closed upon it.

"Again our reporter touched her arm, and in a low tone he called her by her name. The arm that had been hanging down was raised, and clasped his hand. 'Mamma!' she murmured, and she held his fingers with a tender clasp.

"'Really,' thought our reporter, 'this is growing more and more perplexing.' Presently, to his relief, her fingers relaxed, and he drew his released hand away. By this time he felt that bolder measures were necessary. Retreating to the door he overturned a chair, and hastily stepped into the passage. The ruse was successful; the young girl started to her feet, and called out Mamma! Is that you?'