"In Hendon churchyard, sir," said Mr. Tatlow quietly; "that's where the young woman is now."
Humphrey Statham bowed his head, and remained, silent for some few moments; then, without raising his eyes, he said: "Tell me about it, Mr. Tatlow, please; I should like to have all details from first to last."
"Don't you think," said Mr. Tatlow kindly--"don't you think I might look in some other time, sir?--you don't seem very strong just now; and it's no use a man trying his nerves when there is no occasion for it."
"Thank you," said Humphrey Statham, "I would sooner hear the story now. I have been ill, and am going out of town, and it may be some little-time before I return, and I should like, while I am away, to be able to think over what has--to know about--tell me, please, at once."
"The story is not a long one, sir," said Mr. Tatlow; "and when you see how plain and clear it tells, I daresay you will think the case was not a difficult one, for all it took so long to work out; but you see this is fancy-work, as I may call it, that one has to take up in the intervals of regular business, and to lay aside again whenever a great robbery or a murder crops up, and just as one is warm and interested in it, one may be sent off to Paris or New York, and when you come back you have almost to begin again. There was one advantage in this case, that I had it to myself from the start, and hadn't to work up anybody else's line. I began," continued Mr. Tatlow, after a momentary pause, taking a notebook from his pocket and reading from its pages, "at the very beginning, and first saw the draper people at Leeds, where Miss Mitchell was employed. They spoke very highly of her, as a good, industrious girl, and were very sorry when she went away. She gave them a regular month's notice, stating that she had an opportunity of bettering herself by getting an engagement at a first-class house in London. Did the Leeds drapers, Hodder by name, say anything to Miss M.'s friends? No, they did not," continued Mr. Tatlow, answering himself; "most likely they would have mentioned it if the uncle had been alive--a brisk, intelligent man--but he was dead at that time, and no one was left but the bedridden old woman. After her niece's flight she sent down to Hodder and Company, and they told her what Miss M. had told them, though the old woman and her friends plainly did not believe it. It was not until some weeks afterwards that one of Hodder's girls had a letter from a friend of hers, who had previously been with their firm, but was now engaged at Mivenson's, the great drapers in Oxford-street, London, to say that Emily Mitchell had joined their establishment; she was passing under the name of Moore, but this girl knew her at once, and agreed to keep her confidence. Now to page forty-nine. That's only a private memorandum for my own information," said Mr. Tatlow, turning over the leaves of his book. "Page forty-nine. Here you are! Mivenson's, in Oxford-street--old gentleman out of town--laid up with the gout--saw eldest son, partner in the house--recollected Miss Moore perfectly, and had come to them with some recommendation--never took young persons into their house unless they were properly recommended, and always kept register of reference. Looking into register found Emily M. had been recommended by Mrs. Calverley, one of their customers, most respectable lady, living in Great Walpole-street. Made inquiry myself about Mrs. C., and made her out to be a prim, elderly, evangelical party, wife of City man in large way of business. Emily M. did not remain long at Mivenson's. Not a strong girl; had had a fainting fit or two while in their employ, and one day she wrote to say she was too ill to come to work, and they never saw her again. Could they give him the address from which she wrote?" Certainly. Address-book sent for; 143 Great College-street, Camden Town. Go to page sixty. Landlady at Great College-street perfectly recollected Miss Moore. Quiet, delicate girl, regular in her habits; never out later than ten at night; keeping no company, and giving no trouble. Used to be brought home regular every night by a gentleman--always the same gentleman, landlady thought, but couldn't swear, as she had never made him out properly, though she had often tried. Seen from the area, landlady remarked, people looked so different. Gentleman always took leave of Miss Moore at the door, and was never seen again in the neighbourhood until he brought her back the next night. Landlady recollected Miss Moore's going away. When she gave notice about leaving, explained to landlady that she was ill and was ordered change of air; didn't seem to be any worse than she had been all along, but, of course, it was not her (the landlady's) place to make any objection. At the end of the week a cab was sent for, Miss Moore's boxes were put into it, and she drove away. Did the landlady hear the address given to the cabman? She did. 'Waterloo Station, Richmond line.' That answer seemed to me to screw up the whole proceedings; trying to find the clue to a person, who, months before, had gone away from the Waterloo Station, seemed as likely as feeling for a threepenny-piece in a corn-sack. I made one or two inquiries, but heard nothing, and had given the whole thing up for as good as lost, when--let me see, page two hundred and one.
"Here you are! Memoranda in the case of Benjamin Biggs, cashier in the Limpid Water Company, charged with embezzlement. Fine game he kept up, did Mr. Biggs. Salary about two hundred a year, and lived at the rate of ten thousand. Beautiful place out of town, just opposite Bobbington Lock, horses, carriages, and what you please. I was engaged in Biggs' matter, and I had been up to Bobbington one afternoon--for there was a notion just then that Biggs hadn't got clear off and might come home again--so I thought I'd take a lodging and hang about the village for a week or two. It was pleasant summer weather, and I've a liking for the river and for such a place as Bushey Park, though not with many opportunities of seeing much of either. I had been through Biggs' house, and was standing in Messenger's boat-yard, looking at the parties putting off in the water, when a voice close to my ear says, 'Hallo, Tatlow! What's up?' and looking round I saw Mr. Netherton Whiffle, the leading junior at the Bailey, and the most rising man at the C.C.C. I scarcely knew him at first, for he had got on a round straw hat instead of his wig, and a tight-fitting jersey instead of his gown; and when I recognised him and told him what business I had come down upon, he only laughed, and said that Biggs knew more than me and all Scotland-yard put together; and the best thing that I could do was to go into the 'Anglers' and put my name to what I liked at his expense. He's a very pleasant fellow, Mr. Whiffle; and while I was drinking something iced I told him about my wanting a lodging, and he recommended me to a very respectable little cottage kept by the mother of his gardener. A pretty place it was to not looking on the river, but standing in a nice neatly-kept garden, with the big trees of Bushey Park at the back of you, and the birds singing beautiful. I fancy, when I am superannuated I should like a place of that sort for myself and Mrs. T. Nice rooms too; the lodgings, a bedroom and sitting-room, but a cut above my means. I was saying so to the old woman--motherly old creature she was--as we were looking round the bedroom, when I caught sight of something which fixed my attention at once. It was an old black box, like a child's school-trunk, with on the outside lid 'E. M.' in brass letters, and a railway label of the G.N.R., 'Leeds to London,' still sticking on it. Something told me I had 'struck ile,' as the Yankees say; and I asked the old woman to whom that box belonged. 'To her,' she said, she supposed; 'leastways it had been there for many months, left behind by a lodger who had gone away and never sent for it.' It took a little hot rum-and-water to get the lodger's story out of that old lady, sir; not a refreshing drink on a summer's day, but required to be gone through in the course of duty, and it was worth it, as you will see.
"In the previous summer the rooms had been taken by a gentleman who gave the name of Smith, and who the next day brought down the young lady and her boxes. She was pretty but very delicate-looking, and seemed to have very bad health. He came down three or four times a week, and then she brightened up a bit, and seemed a little more cheerful; but when she was alone she was dreadfully down, and the landlady had seen her crying by the hour together. They lived very quietly; no going out, no water-parties, no people to see them, bills of lodging paid for every week; quite the regular thing. This went on for two or three months; then the gentleman's visits grew less frequent, he only came down once or twice a week, and, on more than one occasion, the old woman sitting in the kitchen thought she heard high words between them. One Saturday afternoon, when Mr. Smith had gone away, about an hour after his departure the lady packed all her things, paid up the few shillings which remained after his settlement, and ordered a fly to take her to the station. There was no room on the fly for the little box which I had seen, and she said she would send an address to which it could be forwarded. On the Monday evening Mr. Smith came down as usual; he was very much astonished to find the lady gone, but, after; reading a letter which she had left for him, he seemed very much agitated, and sent out for some brandy; then he paid the week's rent, which was demanded instead of the notice, and left the place. The box had never been sent for, nor had the old woman ever heard anything farther of the lady or the gentleman.
"The story hangs together pretty well, don't it, sir? E. M. and the railway ticket on the box (r forgot to say that I looked inside, and saw the maker's, name, 'Hudspeth, of Boar-lane, Leeds') looked pretty much like Emily Mitchell, and the old woman's description of Mr. Smith tallied tolerably with that given by the lodging-house keeper in Camden Town, who used to notice the gentleman from the area. But there we were shut up tight again. The flyman recollected taking the lady to the station, but no one saw her take her ticket; and there was I at a standstill.
"It is not above a fortnight ago, sir," said Mr. Tatlow, in continuation, "that I struck on the scent again; not that I had forgotten it, or hadn't taken the trouble to pull at anything which I thought might be one of its threads when it came in my way. A twelvemonth ago I was down at Leeds, after a light-hearted chap who had forgotten his own name, and written his master's across the back of a three-and-sixpenny bill-stamp; and I thought I'd take the opportunity of looking in at Hodder the draper's, and ask whether anything had been heard of Miss M. The firm hadn't heard of her, and was rather grumpy about being asked; but I saw the girl from whom I had got some information before--she, you recollect, sir, who had a friend at Mivenson's in Oxford-street, and told me about E. M. being there--and I asked her and her young man to tea, and set the pumps agoing. But she was very bashful and shamefaced, and would not say a word, though evidently she knew something; and it was only when she had gone up to put her bonnet on, that I got out of the young man that Emily Mitchell had been down there, and had been seen in the dusk of the evening going up to the old cottage at Headingley, and carrying a baby in her arms."
"A baby!" cried Humphrey Statham.