But he had been observed by a policeman to hang round the door for at least five minutes before he selected the bell-handle he intended to manipulate upon, and when apparently he had made up his mind, he pulled it out with such tenderness, that it was only at the fourth effort a slight “ting” ensued. He had allowed about three minutes to elapse between each pull, a quarter of-an-hour was therefore very nearly consumed before the door was opened to him. The policeman having little on his mind and nothing to do but to crack nuts, lessened gradually the distance between himself and Bantom, until he stood at his shoulder. When Lotte’s landlady threw wide the entrance to her mansion, she almost fainted at beholding the strange man she had seen a short time previously walking slowly up and down opposite her house, seeming to examine it with the eye of a practised burglar, picking out its most vulnerable part, and with him a policeman. A variety of horrible suggestions presented themselves to her, and she gasped for breath without being able to utter a word.
Bantom looked slightly bewildered by the unexpected appearance of the policeman at his elbow; he was at a loss to conceive his object in pausing there, and waited for him to state his business to the housekeeper. The policeman, who was no artist in his profession, urged by a sense of duty and a presentiment that Bantom was animated by a hope of plunder, also remained silent to hear what Bantom had to say for himself; for a minute, therefore, the three gazed upon each other without speaking.
The landlady broke ground by faintly demanding to what remarkable event she might attribute the honour of this most unlooked-for visit; whereupon Mr. Bantom gracefully resigned to X 94 the privilege of speaking first, a privilege which was immediately accepted, and used in directing a series of sharp interrogatories addressed to Mr. Bantom, every one of which he replied to with skilful evasion. The officer, at length declared himself extremely dissatisfied with the result of his examination, and requested Mr. Bantom to accompany him to the station-house, in order that he might give more satisfactory explanations concerning himself to the inspector on duty. To this proposition, Mr. Bantom emphatically declined to accede; he declared it a violation of the liberty of the subject, to which he would not submit; and as X 94 endeavoured to enforce his suggestion, a collision ensued.
Lotte’s landlady, when she saw the policeman’s hand upon Bantom’s collar, and Bantom’s hand upon the policeman’s belt, and the two commence to revolve with frightful rapidity, thought it prudent to take no further part in the interview. She therefore retired, closed her door, bolted it, and put the chain up. She ascended to the room above, and peeped over a blind to ascertain what followed her departure. She heard a great shuffling of feet upon the pavement, and the roar of many voices. There were frequent heavy bumps at the street door, as of human bodies swung violently against it, the knocker rapped at these times, untouched by mortal hand; then the uproar increased, grew, swelled into a mighty sound, and at last she saw the heels of Mr. Bantom quivering in the air, waving above the shoulders of five policemen, who were bearing him off in triumph to that audience with the inspector at the station-house, suggested in the first instance by X 94, but which Bantom had so obstinately refused to attend.
All this while Lotte was on her way to Eaton Square, She paused occasionally to look in at the shops—the drapers’ and the milliners’ commanding the largest portion of her attention; though at the time Mr. Bantom was doing desperate battle against such unequal odds, she was steadfastly regarding a large variety of pipes in a tobacconist’s window, with the intention of one day selecting one, and making him a present of it.
She went on and reached Hyde Park. She struck across towards the Serpentine.
The sky was blue, clear, and serene; the air was balmy, and the soft turf green and smooth. The throngs moving to and fro, in carriages and on foot, dressed in all the colours of the rainbow, made the scene busy and lively, and she tripped on, full of joyful tenderness and freshened spirits, light and free as a bird.
The route she had determined to pursue lay along the path on the banks of the Serpentine river, over the bridge, and so towards Knightsbridge. As she went on, she admired the gay equipages, and the superb dresses of the fair high-bred creatures borne in them, and no touch of envy mingled with her admiration. Glad of heart herself, she was delighted to see how smiling and happy every one appeared—with what a light, elastic step each one seemed to move, and how deliciously the breeze wafted to her ear the unsaddened ring of childish laughter, when suddenly she came upon the boat-house of the Humane Society.
It stood in the gloomy shadow of a cluster of trees upon the bank; near to it was moored a boat, in which lay at rest the formidable looking-instrument employed to rescue the drowning, or to bring up from the cold depths of the river, the dead.
A cold thrill ran through her frame as she gazed upon it, and she hastened on. The hue of the still river, before so blue and sparkling in its ripples, now seemed to change—to become leaden and motionless. She remembered the dark night when, with cold, sinking heart, she hurried to leap from an arched height into a river’s chill and fatal embrace, that she might there end in a wakeless sleep, her sorrow and her despair.