I went straight upstairs, cautiously, as before. Richard Manx was in his room!
I went down to the street door. The chain was up! A convincing proof that it was this very Richard Manx, our young man lodger—the man who paints and wears a wig, and who is flat-footed—whose movements I had heard through the wall which divides Mrs. Bailey’s room from the room in which the murder was committed.
I am too tired to write a minute longer. This is the longest letter I have ever written. Good night, dear love. God bless and guard you!
Your ever devoted,
Becky.
[CHAPTER XVIII.]
THE “EVENING MOON” RE-OPENS THE SUBJECT OF THE GREAT PORTER SQUARE MURDER, AND RELATES A ROMANTIC STORY CONCERNING THE MURDERED MAN AND HIS WIDOW.
A few hours before Becky wrote this last letter to the man she loved, the Evening Moon presented its readers with a Supplement entirely devoted to particulars relating to the murder in No. 119, Great Porter Square. The Supplement was distinguished by a number of sensational headings which the street news-vendors industriously circulated with the full force of their lungs:—