The Mystery of M. Felix. B. L. Farjeon

and also the inner door, leading to the bedroom. There was no person, living or dead, in either of the rooms.

      "'Where was he?' asked our reporter.

      "'There, on the bed,' moaned Mrs. Middlemore. 'He was there last night before I locked the door; and when I looked in a minute ago he was gone.'

      "It was undeniably true. The bed bore the impression of a human form, but that was all. The body of M. Felix had, indeed, disappeared!"

       CHAPTER IX.

      INTRODUCES SOPHY.

      "Our reporter gazed at the bed in astonishment, while Mrs. Middlemore continued to move her hands and eyes helplessly around, and moan for the police. Our reporter is a man of resource, quick-witted, ready-minded, and ever ready to take advantage of an opportunity. He took advantage of this.

      "'My good creature,' he said, 'what is the use of crying for the police? Have they assisted you in any way in this mysterious affair?'

      "'No, they 'aven't,' replied Mrs. Middlemore, adding inconsequentially, 'but where are they--Oh! where are they?'

      "'What have they done already for you?' continued our reporter. 'Brought you into trouble with the newspapers because of their evidence contradicting yours; and whatever other people may say, I am sure you spoke the truth.' Our reporter observed something frightened in the look she cast at him as he made this assertion. 'The best thing for you is to confide in a friend who is really anxious to serve you, and whose purpose is to get at the truth of the matter.'

      "'That's all I want. But where's the friend?'

      "'Here. I am on the staff of the Evening Moon, which is ready to spend any amount of money in clearing the innocent and bringing the guilty to justice. They haven't any interested motives to serve; they didn't know the dead man, who some people say was murdered, and some people say wasn't. If you are an innocent woman you would jump at the chance I offer you; if you're guilty, it's a different pair of shoes, and I wash my hands of you.'

      "The threat cowed Mrs. Middlemore.

      "'I'm innocent, you know I am,' she gasped.

      "'Of course I know you are, and I should like the opportunity to silence the wretches who speak of you in a suspicious way.'

      "'What 'ave they said of me? What 'ave they dared to say?'

      "'What you wouldn't like to hear; but never mind them just now. We'll soon take the sting out of their tails. Besides, while you are working in the cause of innocence your time will not be wasted. You will be well paid for the information you give.'

      "This appeal to her cupidity settled the point.

      "'I'll do it,' she said, 'whatever it is. I'm a innocent woman, and I want the world to know it.'

      "'The world shall know it,' said our reporter, with inward satisfaction at the success of his arguments; 'and when the whole thing is made clear through you you'll be looked upon as a heroine, and everybody will be running to shake hands with you. People will say, "There, that's the woman that brought to light the truth about M. Felix. If it hadn't been for her we should never have known it. She's a real true woman; no nonsense about her." Why, I shouldn't wonder if they got up a subscription for you.'

      ("We have no doubt, when this meets the eyes of our contemporaries, that some of them will be ready to take us severely to task for the tactics adopted by our reporter. Let them. We are thoroughly satisfied with the means he employed, and we offer him our sincere thanks. There is not a move we make in this mystery which is not made in the interests of justice, and that we are not ashamed of our methods is proved by the absolutely frank manner in which we place before our readers every word that passes.)

      "'What is it you want me to do?' asked Mrs. Middlemore.

      "'Merely,' replied our reporter, to answer a few simple questions. I have my reasons for believing that the police have advised you to say nothing to anyone but themselves.'

      "'They 'ave, sir, they 'ave.'

      "'What better are you off for it? Here are people ready to say anything against you, while you are advised to sit in a corner without uttering a single word in your own defence. It's monstrous. Upon my word, my dear Mrs. Middlemore, it's nothing less than monstrous.'

      "'So it is,' said Mrs. Middlemore, all of whose scruples seemed to have vanished. 'I'll answer anything you put to me.'

      "I shall ask you nothing improper. You say that you locked the door before you went to bed last night. Which door? There are two, one leading to the first floor landing, one communicating between the bedroom and sitting-room. Which of these doors did you lock? Or did you lock both?'

      "'I won't tell you a lie, sir. When I said I locked the door I thought you'd understand me. I mean that I fastened both of 'em. I couldn't lock 'em because the bedroom door key's been taken away, and the door on the landing's been cut into.'

      "'That was done by the locksmith. Who took away the key of the bedroom?'

      "'I don't know. Perhaps the police.'

      "'Without your knowledge?'

      "'I didn't know nothing of it.'

      "'How badly they are behaving to you! Anyway, the two doors were closed?'

      "'Yes, I saw to that myself. I ain't in the house without company, don't you think that. I wouldn't stop in it alone if you was to offer me Queen Victoria's golden crown. My niece is downstairs abed, and once she gets between the sheets she's that difficult to rouse that it's as much as a regiment of soldiers can do to wake 'er.' (This, our reporter thought, was comic, implying that Mrs. Middlemore had engaged the services of a regiment of soldiers to get her niece out of bed every morning.) 'Come up-stairs by myself in the dark,' continued Mrs. Middlemore, 'is more than I dare do. In the daylight I venture if I'm forced to, as I did a minute or two ago, because, though I shook Sophy till I almost shook 'er to pieces, and lifted 'er up in bed and let 'er fall back again, it had no more effect on 'er than water on a duck's back. All she did was to turn round, and bring 'er knees up to 'er chin, and keep 'old of the bedclothes as if she was a vice. She's that aggravating there's 'ardly any bearing with 'er. So as I couldn't get 'er out of bed, I come up 'ere without 'er. And that's 'ow I found out Mr. Felix was gone.'

      "'You were speaking of what took place last night?' said our reporter. 'Your niece, Sophy, came up with you, I understand?'

      "'Yes, she did, though she had 'old of me that tight I could 'ardly shake myself free.'

      "'Did she come into this room with you?'

      "'No, she didn't; she wouldn't put her foot inside it. I left her in the passage while I peeped in. She ain't got the courage of a mouse.'

      "'Then she cannot corroborate your statement that the body of M. Felix was here before you went to bed?'

      "'Ain't my word enough?'

      "'For me it is, but it's different with the police and the public. It is a good job you've put yourself in our hands; there's no telling what trouble you might have got into if you hadn't.'

      "'I'll do anything you want me to, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, in great distress. 'It's a providence you come up when I opened the street door.'

      "'It is. You are positive the body was on the bed?'

      "'If it was the last word I ever had to speak I'd swear to it.'

      "'I believe you without swearing,' said our reporter, opening a cupboard door.

      "'What are you looking in there for?' asked Mrs. Middlemore. 'Do you think a dead man 'd be able to get up and put 'isself on one of the shelves?'

      "'No,' said our reporter, with a smile, 'but let us make sure the body is not in either of the rooms.'

      "He looked thoroughly through the apartments, under the bed and the