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

indication of the interest excited by the incident. Among all these letters there was only one which offered any suggestion likely to be of practical value, and that was the letter we have printed, signed 'A LONELY WIDOW.' Her interesting hypothesis that M. Felix was her long lost husband was, of course, ridiculous, but she made mention of two subjects worthy of consideration. The first was did M. Felix make a will; the second, was there any portrait of him extant. If a will were in existence, it would probably be in the care of a firm of lawyers who could have no good reason for keeping it in the background. We set to work at once upon this trail, but it led to nothing. No lawyers were found in possession of such a document, and it was not forthcoming from other quarters. Nor were we more successful with respect to a portrait of M. Felix. Mrs. Middlemore had never seen one, and a private search through his rooms was futile. Indeed, it is a further proof of the strange secrecy in which M. Felix's life was conducted that not a document or written paper of any description was discovered in his apartments, not even a letter. Some important statements upon this head will be presented further on.

      "In pursuance of the advice our reporter gave Mrs. Middlemore, she communicated to the police the fact of the disappearance of the body of M. Felix. There the matter rested, and would have been likely to rest but for the initiatory steps we had already taken to throw a light upon the mystery. It is all very well to say that nobody's business is everybody's business; it is not the case. People talked and wrote letters, but we acted. It must be admitted that the police were not in a position to move actively in the affair. No definite charge had been offered for their investigation; no person was accused of a crime; it had not even been proved that a crime had been committed. Conjecture was theirs, and that was all. The law cannot move, cannot act upon conjecture; facts of a crime, or even of a supposed crime, are necessary before the administration of justice can be called upon to adjudicate. Suggestions were thrown out as to the advisability of offering a reward for the discovery of the body, but who was to offer it? Even in the case of a deliberate and ascertained murder where the criminal is at large, the Government is notoriously slow in issuing such a proclamation, and the full weight of public opinion has frequently failed in inducing the authorities to offer a reward. It was not, therefore, to be expected that they would do so in this instance. Meanwhile there was one feature in the case which we desire to emphasize, and of which we never lost sight. Between the hours of twelve and one o'clock on the night of the 16th-17th January a man with a red scarf round his neck was seen to issue from the house in Gerard Street, in which M. Felix resided. The man still remained undiscovered. It matters not who saw him, whether Mrs. Middlemore, or Constables Wigg or Nightingale, or all three together. The fact seemed to be established that he had been in the house for some purpose, and had been seen to issue from it.

      "Where was that man, and what motive had he for not coming forward?"

       CHAPTER XII.

      THE REPORTER OF THE "EVENING MOON" MAKES A DISCOVERY.

      "On the evening of the 19th our reporter paid a visit to Mrs. Middlemore. Sophy opened the street door for him.

      "'Hallo, old 'un,' said the girl, 'it's you, is it?'

      "'Yes, Sophy,' said our reporter, 'here I am again.'

      "'As large as life,' remarked Sophy, vivaciously, 'and twice as--no, I won't say that; you ain't arf a bad sort. What's yer little game this time, old 'un?'

      "'Is Mrs. Middlemore in?' asked our reporter.

      "'Yes, aunt's at 'ome. Do you want to see 'er?'

      "'That's what I've come for, Sophy.'

      "'Who's that, Sophy?' cried Mrs. Middlemore, from the bottom of the basement stairs.

      "'It's the old 'un, aunt,' screamed Sophy.

      "'Don't be absurd,' said our reporter, pinching Sophy's cheek. 'It is I, Mrs. Middlemore, the reporter from the Evening Moon.'

      "'Come down, sir,' cried Mrs. Middlemore, 'if come you must. Don't stop talking to that 'uzzy.'

      "Sophy put her tongue in her cheek, and whispering, 'Ain't she a treat?' preceded our reporter to the kitchen.

      "'Good-evening, Mrs. Middlemore,' said our reporter.

      "'Good-evening, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, 'Sophy, 'ave you shut the street door tight?'

      "'As tight as a drum,' replied Sophy.

      "'Mrs. Middlemore sank into a chair with a heavy sigh, and our reporter took a seat opposite her. There was a jug of beer on the table.

      "'Will you 'ave a glass, sir?' asked Mrs. Middlemore, hospitably.

      "'No, thank you; I have just dined, and I thought I would come and have a chat with you in a general way.'

      "'Thank 'eaven it's about nothing particular,' said Mrs. Middlemore, in a tone of manifest relief.

      "'It may lead to something particular,' observed our reporter, genially. 'We're only on the threshold as yet.'

      "'Stop a bit, sir, please. Sophy!'

      "'Yes, aunty dear,' responded the girl, in a tone of simulated sweetness.

      "'If I let you go out for a walk, will you come back in arf an hour?'

      "Sophy hesitated. Between her longing for a run in the streets and her longing to hear what our reporter had to say, she felt herself in a difficulty.

      "'Well, now,' exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore, sharply.

      "'Oh, aunty dear,' said Sophy, pressing the bosom of her frock, and pretending to be greatly startled at her aunt's sharp voice, you send my 'eart into my mouth.'

      "'Will you promise not to stop out longer than an hour?'

      "Mrs. Middlemore's anxiety to get rid of her decided the girl. For once she would forego the temptations of the streets.

      "'Don't want to go out,' she said, shortly.

      "'But you've got to go,' said Mrs. Middlemore, resenting this opposition to her authority, 'or I'll bundle you out for good, neck and crop. Promise, like a good girl.'

      "'Shan't promise,' said Sophy, rebelliously.

      "'Oh, dear, oh, dear,' moaned Mrs. Middlemore. 'What am I to do with her? And after all the nice things you said of her this morning, sir?'

      "'Did you say nice things of me?' asked Sophy, of our reporter.

      "'I did, Sophy,' he replied, 'and I'm sure you will do as your aunt tells you.'

      "'That settles it. I'll go. 'Ow long for, aunty?'

      "'An hour. Not a minute more.'

      "'I say'--to our reporter--'you might lend us yer watch. Then I shouldn't make any mistake.'

      "'Get along with you,' said our reporter, laughing. 'The shops are full of clocks.'

      "'Thank yer for nothing,' said Sophy, proceeding to array herself. Spitting on the palm of her hand, she made a pretence of smoothing her hair. Then she looked at herself in a piece of looking-glass that was hanging on the wall, and turned her head this way and that, smirking most comically. Then she shook out her skirts, and looked over her shoulder to see that they hung becomingly. Then she tied a piece of string round one yawning boot. Then she put on her head something in straw that once might have been called a hat, but which had long since forfeited all claims to respectability. Then she fished out a poor little scarf, about six inches square, and pinned it round her shoulders with a coquettishness not devoid of grace. Her toilette completed, she asked--

      "'Will I do?'

      "'Very nicely, Sophy,' said our reporter. But although he spoke gayly he was stirred by a certain pity for this little waif, who was so conspicuously animated by a spirit to make the best of things--a spirit which might with advantage be emulated by her betters--and who made a joke even of her poverty and rags.

      "'Much obliged,' said Sophy. 'Give