But let us return to the crowd collected around the mangled body of Sinclair.
'It's a sin and a shame,' said a stout man, in working clothes, 'that there wasn't some kind of a fence put around this infernal trap. Where was the Alderman of this ward, that he didn't attend to it?'
'Be careful what you say, fellow,' said Mr. Grump, turning very red in the face, 'I'd have you to know that I am the Alderman of this ward!'
'Are you?—then let me tell you,' said the man, contemptuously, 'that you bear the name of being a mean, dirty old scamp; and if it was not for fear of the law, I'd give you a d——d good thrashing!'
Alderman Grump beat a hasty retreat while the crowd set up a loud shout of derision—for he was universally hated and despised.
The Coroner arrived—the inquest was held; and a 'verdict rendered in accordance with the facts.' The body was taken to the 'Dead House;' and as no friend or relative appeared to claim it, it was the next day conveyed to Potter's Field, and there interred among city paupers, felons and nameless vagrants.
CHAPTER XXVIII
The Disguised Husband—the False Wife—the Murder—the Disclosure, and Suicide.
Reader, let thy fancy again wing its flight from New York to our own city of Boston.