"Haul him out, and let's see."
They do haul him out, and they do see. His face is rather bluish in colour, and his eyes are open, but his hands are clenched, and his tongue is rigid. And he is quite dead. So there is a great sensation around the prison. The senseless figure is carried into the prison, the door is promptly shut, and the rumour spreads through the crowd, trying to find chinks which do not exist, and to hear sounds inaudible, that the "murder" case is disposed of, the prisoner having tried, condemned, and executed himself. And, though the incident is highly sensational, the general feeling is disappointment.
A woman, plainly dressed and closely veiled, who has been lingering about the street for some time, and was there when the van arrived, has seen the figure lifted from the van and has heard the rumour. But she waits a little while longer, until a policeman comes out of a side-entrance, and while some eager inquirers, chiefly women, question him, and he tells them it is quite true, the man committed for trial for the river-side murder is really dead, she stands by and listens. Then she draws her shawl closely round her, and shivers, and goes away. After she has taken a few steps, she falters and sways a little, but she leans against the wall, her hands pressed upon her breast, but quietly, attracting no attention, until she has regained her composure and her breath, and then goes on, along the street, and so out into Holborn.
"She has not been seen or heard of, at his chambers or at home," said Mr. Carruthers to Mr. Felton late that evening. "Nothing is known of her. They say she has no friends; I could not find out from the servants that she has a single acquaintance even to whose house she could have gone."
Mr. Felton was infinitely distressed by this news which Mr. Carruthers, whose active benevolence, guided by the judgment of others, knew no bounds, brought to his brother-in-law, who was at length exhausted, and unable to rise. They had heard early in the afternoon of the death of Routh, and had at once been aroused to the warmest compassion for Harriet. Clare, having left the unconscious Mrs. Carruthers tranquilly asleep, had gone to Mr. Felton's lodgings, and was there when her uncle came in with his report.
"Laura has no suspicion?" asked Mr. Felton.
"Not the slightest. She has no notion that you and George are not still in Paris. I must say Clare is an admirable girl to keep a secret and play a part."
Clare blushed a little at her uncle's praise.
"What is to be done now about this unfortunate woman? She must be found. Apart from every other consideration, George would be infinitely distressed if any harm came to her."
"I really don't know," said Mr. Carruthers. "There seems to be no clue to her probable movements, and--Come in." This was in answer to a knock at the door.