The Mystery of a Hansom Cab by Fergus Hume (reading diary TXT) đ
- Author: Fergus Hume
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They turned to go, Calton having first given Mother Guttersnipe some loose silver, which she seized on with an avaricious clutch.
âYouâll drink it, I suppose?â said the barrister, shrinking back from her.
âWerry likely,â retorted the hag, with a repulsive grin, tying the money up in a piece of her dress, which she tore off for the purpose. âIâm a forting to the public-âouse, I am, anâ itâs the onây pleasure I âave in my life, cuss it.â
The sight of money had a genial effect on her nature, for she held the candle at the head of the stairs, as they went down, so that they should not break their heads. As they arrived safely, they saw the light vanish, and heard the sick woman singing, âThe Last Rose of Summer.â
The street door was open, and, after groping their way along the dark passage, with its pitfalls, they found themselves in the open street.
âThank heaven,â said Calton, taking off his hat, and drawing a long breath. âThank heaven we are safely out of that den!â
âAt all events, our journey has not been wasted,â said the detective, as they walked along. âWeâve found out where Mr. Fitzgerald was on the night of the murder, so he will be safe.â
âThat depends upon Sal Rawlins,â answered Calton, gravely; âbut come, let us have a glass of brandy, for I feel quite ill after my experience of low life.â
CHAPTER XVI.
MISSING.
The next day Kilsip called at Caltonâs office late in the afternoon, and found the lawyer eagerly expecting him. The detectiveâs face, however, looked rather dismal, and Calton was not reassured.
âWell!â he said, impatiently, when Kilsip had closed the door and taken his seat. âWhere is she?â
âThatâs just what I want to know,â answered the detective, coolly; âI went to the Salvation Army headquarters and made enquiries about her. It appears that she had been in the Army as a hallelujah lass, but got tired of it in a week, and went off with a friend of hers to Sydney. She carried on her old life of dissipation, but, ultimately, her friend got sick of her, and the last thing they heard about her was that she had taken up with a Chinaman in one of the Sydney slums. I telegraphed at once to Sydney, and got a reply that there was no person of the name of Sal Rawlins known to the Sydney police, but they said they would make enquiries, and let me know the result.â
âAh! she has, no doubt, changed her name,â said Calton, thoughtfully, stroking his chin. âI wonder why?â
âWanted to get rid of the Army, I expect,â answered Kilsip, drily. âThe straying lamb did not care about being hunted back to the fold.â
âAnd when did she join the Army?â
âThe very day after the murder.â
âRather sudden conversion?â
âYes, but she said the death of the woman on Thursday night had so startled her, that she went straight off to the Army to get her religion properly fixed up.â
âThe effects of fright, no doubt,â said Calton, dryly. âIâve met a good many examples of these sudden conversions, but they never last long as a ruleâitâs a case of âthe devil was sick, the devil a monk would be,â more than anything else. Good-looking?â
âSo-so, I believe,â replied Kilsip, shrugging his shoulders.
âVery ignorantâcould neither read nor write.â
âThat accounts for her not asking for Fitzgerald when she called at the Clubâshe probably did not know whom she had been sent for. It will resolve itself into a question of identification, I expect. However, if the police canât find her, we will put an advertisement in the papers offering a reward, and send out handbills to the same effect. She must be found. Brian Fitzgeraldâs life hangs on a thread, and that thread is Sal Rawlins.â
âYes!â assented Kilsip, rubbing his hands together. âEven if Mr. Fitzgerald acknowledges that he was at Mother Guttersnipeâs on the night in question, she will have to prove that he was there, as no one else saw him.â
âAre you sure of that?â
âAs sure as anyone can be in such a case. It was a late hour when he came, and everyone seems to have been asleep except the dying woman and Sal; and as one is dead, the other is the only person that can prove that he was there at the time when the murder was being committed in the hansom.â
âAnd Mother Guttersnipe?â
âWas drunk, as she acknowledged last night. She thought that if a gentleman did call it must have been the other one.â
âThe other one?â repeated Calton, in 8 puzzled voice. âWhat other one?â
âOliver Whyte.â
Calton arose from his seat with a blank air of astonishment.
âOliver Whyte!â he said, as soon as he could find his voice. âWas he in the habit of going there?â
Kilsip curled himself up in his seat like a sleek cat, and pushing forward his head till his nose looked like the beak of a bird of prey, looked keenly at Calton.
âLook here, sir,â he said, in his low, purring voice, âthereâs a good deal in this case which donât seem plainâin fact, the further we go into it,âthe more mixed up it seems to get. I went to see Mother Guttersnipe this morning, and she told me that Whyte had visited the âQueenâ several times while she lay ill, and that he seemed to be pretty well acquainted with her.â
âBut who the deuce is this woman they call the âQueenâ?â said Calton, irritably. âShe seems to be at the bottom of the whole affairâevery path we take leads to her.â
âI know hardly anything about her,â replied Kilsip, âexcept that she was a good-looking woman, of about forty-nineâshe come out from England to Sydney a few months ago, then on hereâhow she got to Mother Guttersnipeâs I canât find out, though Iâve tried to pump that old woman, but sheâs as close as wax, and itâs my belief she knows more about this dead woman than she chooses to tell.â
âBut what could she have told Fitzgerald to make him act in this silly manner? A stranger who comes from England, and dies in a Melbourne slum, canât possibly know anything about Miss Frettlby.â
âNot unless Miss Frettlby was secretly married to Whyte,â suggested Kilsip, âand the âQueenâ knew it.â
âNonsense,â retorted Calton, sharply. âWhy, she hated him and loves Fitzgerald; besides, why on earth should she marry secretly, and make a confidant of a woman in one of the lowest parts of Melbourne? At one time her father wanted her to marry Whyte, but she made such strong opposition, that he eventually gave his consent to her engagement with Fitzgerald.â
âAnd Whyte?â
âOh, he had a row with Mr. Frettlby, and left the house in a rage. He was murdered the same night, for the sake of some papers he carried.â
âOh, thatâs Gorbyâs idea,â said Kilsip, scornfully, with a vicious snarl.
âAnd itâs mine too,â answered Calton, firmly. âWhyte had some valuable papers, which he always carried about with him. The woman who died evidently told Fitzgerald that he did so; I gathered as much from an accidental admission he made.â
Kilsip looked puzzled.
âI must confess that it is a riddle,â he said at length; âbut if Mr. Fitzgerald would only speak, it would clear everything up.â
âSpeak about whatâthe man who murdered Whyte?â
âWell, if he did not go quite so far as that he might at least supply the motive for the crime.â
âPerhaps so,â answered Calton, as the detective rose to go; âbut itâs no use. Fitzgerald for some reason or another, has evidently made up his mind not to speak, so our only hope in saving him lies in finding this girl.â
âIf sheâs anywhere in Australia you may be sure sheâll be found,â answered Kilsip, confidently, as he took his departure. âAustralia isnât so over-crowded as all that.â
But if Sal Rawlins was in Australia at all she certainly must have been in some very remote part. All efforts to find her proved futile. It was an open question if she was alive or dead; she seemed to have vanished completely. She was last seen in a Sydney den with a Chinaman whom afterwards she appears to have left. Since then, nothing whatever was known of her. Notices offering large rewards for her discovery were inserted in all the newspapers, Australian and New Zealand; but nothing came of them. As she herself was unable to read there seemed little chance of her knowing of them; and, if, as Calton surmised she had changed her name, no one would be likely to tell her of them. There was only the bare chance that she might hear of them casually, or that she might turn up of her own accord. If she returned to Melbourne she would certainly go to her grandmotherâs. She had no motive for not doing so. So Kilsip kept a sharp watch on the house, much to Mrs. Rawlinsâ disgust, for, with true English pride, she objected to this system of espionage.
âCuss âim,â she croaked over her evening drink, to an old crone, as withered and evil-looking as herself, âwhy canât âe stop in âis own bloominâ âouse, anâ leave mine aloneâa-cominâ round âere a-pokinâ and pryinâ and a-perwenting people from earninâ their livinâ anâ a-gittinâ drunk when they ainât well.â
âWhat do âe want?â asked her friend, rubbing her weak old knees.
âWants?ââe wants âis throat cut,â said Mother Guttersnipe, viciously. âAnâ sâelp me Iâll do for âim some night wâen âeâs a watchinâ round âere as if it were Pentridgeââe can git what he can out of that whelp as ran away, but I knows suthinâ âe donât know, cuss âim.â
She ended with a senile laugh, and her companion having taken advantage of the long speech to drink some gin out of the broken cup, Mother Guttersnipe seized the unfortunate old creature by the hair, and in spite of her feeble cries, banged her head against the wall.
âIâll have the perlice in at yer,â whimpered the assaulted one, as she tottered as quickly away as her rheumatics would allow her. âSee if I donât.â
âGet out,â retorted Mother Guttersnipe, indifferently, as she filled herself a fresh cup. âYou come a-falutinâ round âere agin prigginâ my drinks, cuss you, anâ Iâll cut yer throat anâ wring yer wicked old âead orf.â
The other gave a howl of dismay at hearing this pleasant proposal, and tottered out as quickly as possible, leaving Mother Guttersnipe in undisputed possession of the field.
Meanwhile Calton had seen Brian several times, and used every argument in his power to get him to tell everything, but he either maintained an obstinate silence, or merely answered,
âIt would only break her heart.â
He admitted to Calton, after a good deal of questioning, that he had been at Mother Guttersnipeâs on the night of the murder. After he had left Whyte by the corner of the Scotch Church, as the cabmanâRoystonâhad stated, he had gone along Russell Street, and met Sal Rawlins near the Unicorn Hotel. She had taken him to Mother Guttersnipeâs, where he had seen the dying woman, who had told him something he could not reveal.
âWell,â said Mr. Calton, after hearing the admission, âyou might have saved us all this trouble by admitting this before, and yet kept your secret, whatever it may be. Had you done so, we might have got hold of Sal Rawlins before she left Melbourne; but now itâs a mere chance whether she turns up or not.â
Brian did not answer to this; in fact, he seemed hardly to be thinking of what the lawyer was saying; but just as Calton was leaving, he askedâ
âHow is Madge?â
âHow can you expect
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