第91章

"Only think!" says he, rubbing his hands in great spirits, "I've been to the genteel villa residence, and the moment I mentioned my business they kicked me out directly.There were two witnesses of the assault, and it's worth a hundred pounds to me if it's worth a farthing.""I wish you joy of your luck," says I.

"Thank you," says he."When may I pay you the same compliment on finding the thief?""Whenever you like," says I, "for the thief is found.""Just what I expected," says he."I've done all the work, and now you cut in and claim all the credit--Mr.Jay, of course.""No," says I.

"Who is it then?" says he.

"Ask Mrs.Yatman," says I."She's waiting to tell you.""All right! I'd much rather hear it from that charming woman than from you," says he, and goes into the house in a mighty hurry.

What do you think of that, Inspector Theakstone? Would you like to stand in Mr.Sharpin's shoes? I shouldn't, I can promise you.

FROM CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE TO MR.MATTHEW SHARPIN.

July 12th.

SIR--Sergeant Bulmer has already told you to consider yourself suspended until further notice.I have now authority to add that your services as a member of the Detective police are positively declined.You will please to take this letter as notifying officially your dismissal from the force.

I may inform you, privately, that your rejection is not intended to cast any reflections on your character.It merely implies that you are not quite sharp enough for our purposes.If we _are_ to have a new recruit among us, we should infinitely prefer Mrs.

Yatman.

Your obedient servant, FRANCIS THEAKSTONE.

NOTE ON THE PRECEDING CORRESPONDENCE, ADDED BY MR.THEAKSTONE.

The inspector is not in a position to append any explanations of importance to the last of the letters.It has been discovered that Mr.Matthew Sharpin left the house in Rutherford Street five minutes after his interview outside of it with Sergeant Bulmer, his manner expressing the liveliest emotions of terror and astonishment, and his left cheek displaying a bright patch of red, which looked as if it might have been the result of what is popularly termed a smart box on the ear.He was also heard by the shopman at Rutherford Street to use a very shocking expression in reference to Mrs.Yatman, and was seen to clinch his fist vindictively as he ran round the corner of the street.Nothing more has been heard of him; and it is conjectured that he has left London with the intention of offering his valuable services to the provincial police.

On the interesting domestic subject of Mr.and Mrs.Yatman still less is known.It has, however, been positively ascertained that the medical attendant of the family was sent for in a great hurry on the day when Mr.Yatman returned from the milliner's shop.The neighboring chemist received, soon afterward, a prescription of a soothing nature to make up for Mrs.Yatman.The day after, Mr.

Yatman purchased some smelling-salts at the shop, and afterward appeared at the circulating library to ask for a novel descriptive of high life that would amuse an invalid lady.It has been inferred from these circumstances that he has not thought it desirable to carry out his threat of separating from his wife, at least in the present (presumed) condition of that lady's sensitive nervous system.

THE SEVENTH DAY.

FINE enough for our guest to go out again.Long, feathery lines of white cloud are waving upward in the sky, a sign of coming wind.

There was a steamer telegraphed yesterday from the West Indies.

When the next vessel is announced from abroad, will it be George's ship?

I don't know how my brothers feel to-day, but the sudden cessation of my own literary labors has left me still in bad spirits.I tried to occupy my mind by reading, but my attention wandered.I went out into the garden, but it looked dreary; the autumn flowers were few and far between--the lawn was soaked and sodden with yesterday's rain.I wandered into Owen's room.He had returned to his painting, but was not working, as it struck me, with his customary assiduity and his customary sense of enjoyment.

We had a long talk together about George and Jessie and the future.Owen urged me to risk speaking of my son in her presence once more, on the chance of making her betray herself on a second occasion, and I determined to take his advice.But she was in such high spirits when she came home to dinner on this Seventh Day, and seemed so incapable, for the time being, of either feeling or speaking seriously, that I thought it wiser to wait till her variable mood altered again with the next wet day.

The number drawn this evening was Eight, being the number of the story which it had cost Owen so much labor to write.He looked a little fluttered and anxious as he opened the manuscript.This was the first occasion on which his ability as a narrator was to be brought to the test, and I saw him glance nervously at Jessie's attentive face.

"I need not trouble you with much in the way of preface," he said."This is the story of a very remarkable event in the life of one of my brother clergymen.He and I became acquainted through being associated with each other in the management of a Missionary Society.I saw him for the last time in London when he was about to leave his country and his friends forever, and was then informed of the circumstances which have afforded the material for this narrative."