The Female Detective by Andrew Forrester Page B

something to him which made the poor gentleman tremble.
    â€œThen she died as the servants came trooping into the house from the school treat.
    â€œI knew how wrong I had been long before the next day. But when I looked at her still face, my dear, I could not disobey her; and I felt more unable to oppose her last wishes when our housekeeper, Mrs. Dumarty, whispered to me that she looked in her sleep as though she had done her duty.
    â€œI know how wicked it all was, but as the years have rolled on I hoped I had done all for the best. My brother, when he came home at the end of those two days, found a deep consolation in the little child—and I could not tell him he was weeping over a stranger.
    â€œI fell very ill myself, my dear, after the burial, and they thought it was grief which had overpowered me. But I am afraid it was more my conscience than my sorrow, though I am sure I loved my sister very dearly.
    â€œAs the years have gone on I have thought I had done all for the best. Sir Nathaniel has received a large income yearly from me; for I came into a good property very soon after Mrs. Shedleigh’s death. And I have made my will in his favour, so that he could never have been poor through my action—whereas had he inherited the estates he would soon have wasted them, for he is quite a prodigal.
    â€œNow you know all. You tell me, my poor woman, you wish to save me. How can you?”
    Long before the good lady asked me that woful question, I had hung my head in sorrow and regret.
    Don’t suppose we detectives have no soft places in our hearts because we are obliged to steel them against the daily wickedness we have to encounter. It is not long since that one Tom White, a detective of the R Division, was shocked by seeing a young thief, whom he was pursuing, fall dead at his feet. Tom White never was the thing after that; so he must have had some soft place in his heart, poor fellow.
    I confess I was sorry I had shown Sir Nathaniel the cards he now held.
    Could I save her?
    I was determined to do my best.
    â€œWell?” she said, a little wearily, and coming to me, she put her hand lightly on my shoulder.
    I confess I never felt a hand rest so heavily upon me, though her touch was as delicate as that of the lady she must have always been.
    â€œI am very sorry—” I said.
    â€œThere is no need,” she replied.
    â€œAnd very much ashamed—”
    â€œWhy, my dear? You have done your duty, whatever I may have omitted.”
    â€œI would rather be you,” I said.
    I confess these replies of mine were sentimental for a detective. Still, as they were uttered, I repeat them.
    And lo! as I spoke, there came a sudden, fierce, imperious peal upon the great gate-bell.
    As I glanced at the great clock, and read “a quarter to four,” I felt certain the visitor was Sir Nathaniel Shirley.
    He did not even send a card up; only his name, with the statement that he must see either Mr. or Miss Shedleigh.
    The man added that he had replied his master was out in the grounds, but that his lady was in the house.
    Positively Sir Nathaniel felt himself already so much master that he had not waited for permission to come upstairs.
    â€œGood day, Catherine,” said the baronet, entering; “I heard you were in, and so I did not wait for the man coming down again.”
    The coward! he was afraid she would gain the more advantage the longer the time before he saw her.
    As he spoke, he glanced at me as though I stood his enemy. He had held out his hand to me, taken what I offered without remark (like my friend the ringtailed at the gardens), and now he was ready to snarl because he supposed I had nothing more to give.
    When the man had left the room, he turned to me and said the following words, in as sweet a tone as he would have used for inquiring after my health.
    â€œI thought I should find you here, you baggage!”
    â€œSir!” said I, and I think I was