The Final Recollections of Charles Dickens by Thomas Hauser Page A

gentleman of my established character and credentials with nonsense such as this?”
    â€œThe sordid tale is all there, capable of being proven by the prosecution in a court of law.”
    â€œIt is not possible for you to prove blame upon me. The law of England supposes every man to be innocent until he is proved—proved—to be guilty. Either you know that, or you do not. Which is it?”
    Ellsworth stared hard into Wingate’s eyes. There was silence between them, but I detected a twitching at Wingate’s mouth and perhaps an involuntary attraction of his right hand in the direction of the inspector’s cravat.
    â€œDid you speak to me, sir?” Ellsworth queried.
    â€œI did not.”
    â€œPerhaps you wished to speak.”
    â€œI did not do that either.”
    â€œVery well then. Let us move to the subject of Florence Spriggs.”
    A look of fear crossed Wingate’s eyes, quickly replaced by defiance and contempt.
    â€œWhat of Miss Spriggs?” he demanded.
    â€œDid you know her?”
    â€œShe was my companion at one time. I am sorry to say that she proved treacherous and ungrateful.”
    â€œAnd James Frost?”
    â€œHe was of the streets, and he died on the streets. What more is there to be said?”
    â€œOne might speak of the manner in which he died.”
    Wingate’s eyes turned cold and calculating. His face was stern, but his colour was changing, and he seemed to breathe as if he had been running.
    â€œSpeak to the walls of my office, sir,” he said angrily, rising from his chair. “I will listen to no more of this. Speak also to my desk. They are attentive listeners and will not interrupt you. Make this room yours, and I will return when you have finished what you have to say.”
    â€œSit down,” Ellsworth ordered.
    Wingate stood still with his hand on the back of his chair. He tried to stand scornfully, but it appeared as though he needed the chair for support. He fixed his eyes on a silver pencil case on the desk, as a tightrope walker on a dangerous wire might keep an object in his sight to steady himself lest he lose his balance and fall.
    Then he sat, a scowl of hatred on his face.
    â€œDo your duty, Mr. Ellsworth. But be careful not to overstep it. If you exceed your authority, I have friends in high places who will be displeased.”
    â€œYou are a low, murderous, mercenary villain, and it shall be proven by the evidence against you in a court of law.”
    â€œI am not sure I heard you correctly,” Wingate said, summoning up one last effort to establish control over his antagonist. “Could you repeat what you just said.”
    Ellsworth met Wingate’s icy stare with one of his own. Then he turned in my direction and nodded toward my transcription pad. “Mr. Dickens?”
    For the first time since we sat down in the office, I spoke.
    â€œYou are a low, murderous, mercenary villain, and it shall be proven by the evidence against you in a court of law.”
    Wingate stared at Ellsworth as a reptile might when looking for a hole to hide in. A stoppage came upon his breathing. His nostrils rose and fell convulsively, but I saw no moving at his mouth. His figure appeared to shrink.
    â€œHave you ever seen a public hanging?” Ellsworth asked.
    There was no response.
    Now Ellsworth was wielding his voice as a weapon in the same manner as Wingate had before.
    â€œYou think you are a superior breed of man, but death and fire make equals of us all. You shall see me again in court when you are tried for your life. The charge will be willful murder, twice done. That, and your assault on Miss Spriggs.”
    Wingate raised a fist above his head and slammed it down upon his desk with the force of a blacksmith.
    â€œThat whore you would make an angel of! That low girl I picked out of the mud!”
    â€œYou shall know her worth and that of James Frost when the hangman’s noose is placed round