The Shady ’un—after assuring himself that Philip was sleeping heavily—left the place, and bent his steps in a direction they would not willingly have taken on any other occasion—to a police-station. Within a very little time, messages had flashed to and fro upon the wires; questions had been asked and answered; and a silent and taciturn sergeant, accompanied by a couple of constables, went back with the Shady ’un to his lodging.
Philip, waking from an uneasy sleep, saw the grim faces—the blue coats—the helmets of the Law; and knew that the game was up. The Shady ’un—after being quite sure that he was secured—drew near.
“These gents know me—an’ they knows as ’ow I’ve ’ad my little bit of trouble afore to-day. But my ’ands—look at ’em, gents, I beg of yer—my ’ands is free from blood—an’ sich-like wickedness. Gents—if ever the time should come w’en, for dooty’s sake, you should ’ave to be ’ard on me—you’ll remember this in my favour—won’t yer?”
“Oh yes—we’ll remember it,” responded the taciturn sergeant. “Come, Mr. Dandy Chater—we are quite ready.”
Late that night, Bamberton was stirred to its depths again, by the news that Mr. Dandy Chater was in close custody in the lock-up, with a special draft of constables to keep watch over him.
CHAPTER XVI
WHO KILLED THIS WOMAN?
Bamberton was taking grim holiday. Bamberton the sleepy—with nothing to stir it, from one dreary year’s end to the other, treading its dull respectable round, knowing exactly who married who, and how John This, or James That, got on with their respective wives, with the certainty of the dull little clock in the Chater Arms—had suddenly awakened to find itself notorious, and its name in big print in the great London papers. Moreover, had not Bamberton, the newly-awakened, already had pictures of its High Street (with an impossible man, in a smock-frock, leaning on a species of clothes-prop, in the foreground) in the illustrated and evening journals? Had not Bamberton already been photographed, interviewed, stared at, and made public in a hundred different ways. Now, too, had come the day of the inquest; and impossible rumours were already in the air, concerning that same inquest, and the marvellous things which were to be said and done thereat. Scarcely to be wondered at therefore, is it, that Bamberton should be taking grim holiday, and should be flocking to the place where twelve lucky members of its male community had been summoned to give judgment, concerning the doing to death of poor Patience Miller.
At a period long since forgotten, some charitable inhabitant, or other person interested in the welfare of the male and female youth of Bamberton, had had dreams of an Institute; and, with that laudable design in view, had pounced upon the only unoccupied spacious building in the locality, and had endeavoured to transform it into a Hall of semi-dazzling Light. The attempt had been a failure; and the building—which was no other than the old Mill, which stood on the outskirts of the wood—had long since fallen into greater decay than before.
But this place had again come before the public notice, by reason of the fact that the body of the murdered girl had been carried there, after its discovery; and at that place the inquest was to be held. The body had been put in an upper room—a species of loft; the inquest was to be held in the great room of the Mill, where certain iron rings and rotting ropes—part of an abortive attempt at a gymnasium—hung suggestively from the ceiling. And thither all Bamberton bent its steps.
“Whisperings, and murmurings, and the shuffling of many feet—with some glances towards the ceiling, as though curious eyes would pierce through, and see the ghastly thing laid above. At present, only a grave-faced country constable or two, setting chairs in order for the twelve lucky men, the Coroner, and the witnesses; and exercising a little brief authority, in keeping back certain Bambertonites who were pressing forward beyond the limits assigned for the general public. Once or twice, the door of a smaller room opened, and an important-looking little man, with a hard face and a tuft of hair on his chin, came bustling out, with a little sheaf of papers in his hand, to whisper to one or other of the constables. The door of that room proved to be a keen source of attraction to many eyes; for it was whispered that the prisoner waited within.”