Part 25 (1/2)
”You did not see the gentleman who came?” said Kilsip, turning again to the old hag.
”Not I, cuss you,” she retorted, politely. ”'E came about 'arf-past one in the morning, an' you don't expects we can stop up all night, do ye?”
”Half-past one o'clock,” repeated Calton, quickly. ”The very time. Is this true?”
”Wish I may die if it ain't,” said Mother Guttersnipe, graciously. ”My gran'darter Sal kin tell ye.”
”Where is she?” asked Kilsip, sharply.
At this the old woman threw back her head, and howled dismay.
”She's 'ooked it,” she wailed, drumming on the ground with her feet.
”Gon' an' left 'er pore old gran' an' joined the Army, cuss 'em, a-comin' round an' a-spilin' business.”
Here the woman on the bed broke out again--
”Since the flowers o' the forest are a' wed awa.”
”'Old yer jawr,” yelled Mother Guttersnipe, rising, and making a dart at the bed. ”I'll choke the life out ye, s'elp me. D'y want me to murder ye, singin' 'em funeral things?”
Meanwhile the detective was talking rapidly to Mr. Calton.
”The only person who can prove Mr. Fitzgerald was here between one and two o'clock,” he said, quickly, ”is Sal Rawlins, as everyone else seems to have been drunk or asleep. As she has joined the Salvation Army, I'll go to the barracks the first thing in the morning and look for her.”
”I hope you'll find her,” answered Calton, drawing a long breath. ”A man's life hangs on her evidence.”
They turned to go, Calton having first given Mother Guttersnipe some loose silver, which she seized on with an avaricious clutch.
”You'll drink it, I suppose?” said the barrister, shrinking back from her.
”Werry likely,” retorted the hag, with a repulsive grin, tying the money up in a piece of her dress, which she tore off for the purpose.
”I'm a forting to the public-'ouse, I am, an' it's the on'y pleasure I 'ave in my life, cuss it.”
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, ”The Last Rose of Summer.”
The street door was open, and, after groping their way along the dark pa.s.sage, with its pitfalls, they found themselves in the open street.
”Thank heaven,” said Calton, taking off his hat, and drawing a long breath. ”Thank heaven we are safely out of that den!”
”At all events, our journey has not been wasted,” said the detective, as they walked along. ”We've found out where Mr. Fitzgerald was on the night of the murder, so he will be safe.”
”That depends upon Sal Rawlins,” answered Calton, gravely; ”but come, let us have a gla.s.s of brandy, for I feel quite ill after my experience of low life.”
CHAPTER XVI.
MISSING.
The next day Kilsip called at Calton's office late in the afternoon, and found the lawyer eagerly expecting him. The detective's face, however, looked rather dismal, and Calton was not rea.s.sured.