BRITISH MYSTERIES - Fergus Hume Collection: 21 Thriller Novels in One Volume. Fergus Hume

then, with a fresh grimace, he darted along the street as quickly as his bandy legs could carry him.

      Spilsby took no notice of this, but, seeing some people coming round the corner, commenced to sing out his praises of the specials.

      ”Ere yer are—all ‘ot an’ steamin’,’ he cried, in a kind of loud bleat, which added still more to his sheep-like appearance: ‘Spilsby’s Specials—oh, lovely—ain’t they nice; my eye, fine muttin pies; who ses Spilsby’s; ‘ave one, miss?’ to Kitty.

      Thank you, no,’ replied Kitty, with a faint smile as she put down her empty cup; ‘I’m going now.’

      Spilsby was struck by the educated manner in which she spoke and by the air of refinement about her.

      ‘Go home, my dear,’ he said, kindly, leaning forward; ‘this ain’t no time for a young gal like you to be out.’

      ‘I’ve got no home,’ said Kitty, bitterly, ‘but if you could direct me—’

      ‘Here, you,’ cried a shrill female voice, as a woman dressed in a flaunting blue gown rushed up to the stall, ‘give us a pie quick; I’m starvin’; I’ve got no time to wait.’

      ‘No, nor manners either,’ said Spilsby, with a remonstrating bleat, pushing a pie towards her; ‘who are you, a-shovin’ your betters, Portwine Annie?’

      ‘My betters,’ scoffed the lady in blue, looking Kitty up and down with a disdainful smile on her painted face; ‘where are they, I’d like to know?’

      ”Ere, ‘old your tongue,’ bleated Spilsby, angrily, ‘or I’ll tell the perlice at the corner.’

      ‘And much I care,’ retorted the shrill-voiced female, ‘seeing he’s a particular friend of mine.’

      ‘For God’s sake tell me where I can find a place to stop in,’ whispered Kitty to the coffee-stall keeper.

      ‘Come with me, dear,’ said Portwine Annie, eagerly, having overheard what was said, but Kitty shrank back, and then gathering her cloak around her ran down the street.

      ‘What do you do that for, you jade?’ said Spilsby, in a vexed tone; ‘don’t you see the girl’s a lady.’

      ‘Of course she is,’ retorted the other, finishing her pie; ‘we’re all ladies; look at our dresses, ain’t they fine enough? Look at our houses, aren’t they swell enough?’

      ‘Yes, and yer morals, ain’t they bad enough?’ said Spilsby, washing up the dirty plate.

      ‘They’re quite as good as many ladies in society, at all events,’ replied Portwine Annie, with a toss of her head as she walked off.

      ‘Oh, it’s a wicked world,’ bleated Spilsby, in a soft voice, looking after the retreating figure. ‘I’m sorry for that poor gal—I am indeed—but this ain’t business,’ and once more raising his voice he cried up his wares, ‘Oh, lovely; ain’t they muttony? Spilsby’s specials, all ‘ot; one penny.’

      Meanwhile Kitty was walking quickly down Elizabeth Street, and turning round the corner ran right up against a woman.

      ‘Hullo!’ said the woman, catching her wrist, ‘where are you off to?’

      ‘Let me go,’ cried Kitty, in a panting voice.

      The woman was tall and handsome, but her face had a kindly expression on it, and she seemed touched with the terrified tone of the girl.

      ‘My poor child,’ she said, half contemptuously, releasing her, ‘I won’t hurt you. Go if you like. What are you doing out at this time of the night?’

      ‘Nothing,’ faltered Kitty, with quivering lips, lifting her face up to the pale moon. The other saw it in the full light and marked how pure and innocent it was.

      ‘Go home, dear,’ she said, in a soft tone, touching the girl kindly on the shoulder, ‘it’s not fit for you to be out at this hour. You are not one of us.’

      ‘My God! no,’ cried Kitty, shrinking away from her.

      The other smiled bitterly.

      ‘Ah! you draw away from me now,’ she said, with a sneer; ‘but what are you, so pure and virtuous, doing on the streets at this hour? Go home in time, child, or you will become like me.’

      ‘I have no home,’ said Kitty, turning to go.

      ‘No home!’ echoed the other, in a softer tone; ‘poor child! I cannot take you with me—God help me; but here is some money,’ forcing a shilling into the girl’s hand, ‘go to Mrs Rawlins at Victoria Parade, Fitzroy—anyone will tell you where it is—and she will take you in.’

      ‘What kind of a place is it?’ said Kitty.

      ‘A home for fallen women, dear,’ answered the other, kindly.

      ‘I’m not a fallen woman!’ cried the girl, wildly, ‘I have left my home, but I will go back to it—anything better than this horrible life on the streets.’

      ‘Yes, dear,’ said the woman, softly, ‘go home; go home, for God’s sake, and if you have a father and mother to shield you from harm, thank heaven for that. Let me kiss you once,’ she added, bending forward, ‘it is so long since I felt a good woman’s kiss on my lips. Good-bye.’

      ‘Good-bye,’ sobbed Kitty, raising her face, and the other bent down and kissed the child-like face, then with a stifled cry, fled away through the moonlit night.

      Kitty turned away slowly and walked up the street. She knew there was a cab starting opposite the Town Hall which went to Richmond, and determined to go home. After all, hard though her life might be in the future, it would be better than this cruel harshness of the streets.

      At the top of the block, just as she was about to cross Swanston Street, a party of young men in evening dress came round the corner singing, and evidently were much exhilarated with wine. These were none other than Mr Jarper and his friends, who, having imbibed a good deal more than was good for them, were now ripe for any mischief. Bellthorp and Jarper, both quite intoxicated, were walking arm-in-arm, each trying to keep the other up, so that their walking mostly consisted of wild lurches forward, and required a good deal of balancing.

      ‘Hullo!’ cried Bellthorp solemnly—he was always solemn when intoxicated—‘girl—pretty—eh!’

      ‘Go ‘way,’ said Barty, staggering back against the wall, ‘we’re Christian young men.’

      Kitty tried to get away from this inebriated crew, but they all closed round her, and she wrung her hands in despair. ‘If you are gentlemen you will let me go,’ she cried, trying to push past.

      ‘Give us kiss first,’ said a handsome young fellow, with his hat very much on one side, putting his arm round her waist, ‘pay toll, dear.’

      She felt his hot breath on her cheek and shrieked out wildly, trying to push him away with all her force. The young man, however, paid no attention to her cries, but was about to kiss her when he was taken by the back of the neck and thrown into the gutter.

      ‘Gentlemen!’ said a rich rolling voice, which proceeded from a portly man who had just appeared on the scene. ‘I am astonished,’ with the emphasis on the first person singular, as if he were a man of great note.

      ‘Old boy,’ translated Bellthorp to the others, ‘is ‘tonished.’

      ‘You have,’ said the stranger, with an airy wave of his hand, ‘the appearance of gentlemen, but, alas! you are but whited sepulchres, fair to look upon, but full of dead men’s bones within.’

      ‘Jarper,’ said Bellthorp, solemnly, taking Barty’s arm, ‘you’re a tombstone with skeleton inside—come along—old boy is right—set of cads ‘suiting an unprotected gal—good night, sir.’