The Big Bow Mystery

ed rooms-or rooms that ought to be haunted if the ghosts of those murdered in them had any self-respect-are supposed to fetch a lower rent in the market. The whole Irish problem m

er troubles and cares. Though he worked harder than ever, the spirit seemed to have gone out of him. Sometimes he forgot himself in a fine rapture of eloquence-lashing himself up into a divine resentment of injustice or a passion of sympathy with the sufferings of his brethren-but mostly he plodded on in dull, mechanical fashion. He still made brief provincial tours, starring a day here and a day there, and everywhere his admirers remarked how jaded and o

cs, so that even Conservatives and Socialists considered themselves justified in pestering the committee for tickets. To say nothing of ladies. As the committee desired to be present themselves, nine-tenths of the applications for admission had to be refused, as is usual on these occasions. The committee agreed among themselves to

the ceremony sent him a ticket. Crowl was in the first flush of possession when Denzil Cantercot returned, after a sudden and unannounced absence of three days. His clothes were muddy and tattered, his cocked

. "Here, give me a glass of

oid paying the piper. Her fool of a husband might be quite sure he would never set eyes on the scoundrel again. However, Mrs. Crowl was wrong. Here was Denzil back again. And yet Mr. Crowl felt no sense of victory. He had no desire to crow over his partner and to utter that "See! didn't I tell you so?" which is a greater consolation than religion in most of the misfortun

g, disreputable scar

him drink. Mr. Ca

if my childr

ily down his throat almost at

me more deeply than to hear that a child, a dear little child-the Beautiful in a nutshell-had suffe

wrong you," said Mrs. Crowl.

things," said Denzil, tou

e you been doin

should I

became of you? I thought

shed to fragments on the

nihilated threepence, or a week's school fees for half the family." Peter wished she would turn the lightning upon Denzil, a conductor down whom it would run innocuously. He

ere had been no interval. "I mean that it wou

as you have, to be su

not lived with Peter all these years for nothing. "And

y, looking up from his quadrupedal position li

spouse. "Who else keeps h

ing up the pieces

teously. "I have been working day and night bringing out

s bloodshot eyes with

s overjoyed at the rencontre and told him the idea I'd been bro

of a paper?

e been devoting my days and nights but

the paper will

the Bea

s. Crowl, "with port

Denzil. "That would be t

name of the pape

eter. Like Scott, I pre

e the fun of anonymity comes in? If I had any gifts, I should like

for sticking close to Nature. Enough for me that I disseminate

you hadn't been to see him for some time, and looked annoyed

he's taken all the credit for it, the rogue! My name doesn't appear even

of Constant's portrait. Gladstone

ar Gladstone? A man who's devoted his life to

crumbling Fads of Religion and Monarchy. But, for all t

his room, and when Mrs. Crowl sent him up a cup of nice strong tea at tea time,

lestial costermongers. Everybody was on the alert for the advent of Mr. Gladstone. He must surely come through the Road on his journey from the West Bow-wards. But nobody saw him or

ompliment. He knows his London, and it's no use trying to hide the facts from him. They must have queer notions of cities, those monarchs. They must fancy everybody lives in a flutter of flags

wship. Denzil was himself accompanied by Grodman, though less obtrusively. Least obtrusively was he accompanied by his usual Scotland Yard shadows, Wimp's agents. There was a surging nondescript crowd about the Club, and the police, and the door-keeper, and the stewards could with difficulty keep out the tide of the ticketles

y, Cantercot,

e you to the

eir way should

which he had been invited in view of his known devotion to the task of unveiling the Mystery. He spoke to one of the policemen about, who said, "Ay, ay, sir,"

l. This would suit Grodman better. He could then have the two

ket,

mself up to hi

te were concentrated in that haughty monosyllable. Heaven itself is full of jour

paper,

nzil sharply. He did not rel

the bystanding stewards, scarce c

f an eye, Denzil had e

in the eyes and a quiver about the mouth. He went in on Denzil's heels, blocking up the doorway with Grodman. The two men were so full of

ust went in, wasn't i

id Grodman, in tones

to deny himself the luxury, though the presence of Mr. Gladstone and the nature of the ceremony should perhaps have given him pause. Yet, on the other hand, these were the very factors of the temptation. Wimp went in and took a seat behind Denzil. All the seats were numbered, so that everybody might have the satisfaction of occupying somebody else's. Denzil was in the special reserved places in the front row just by the central gangway; Crowl was squeezed into a corner behind a pillar near the back of the hall. Grodman had been honored with a seat on the platform, which was accessible by steps on the right and left, but he kept his eye on Denzil. The picture of the poor idealist hung on the wall behind Grodman's head, covered by its curtain of brown holland. There was a subdued buzz of excitement about the hall, which swelled into cheers every now and again as some gentleman known to fame or Bow took his place upon the platform. It was occupied by several local M.

e organization of skilled and unskilled classes of labor, as well as for the diffusion of better ideals-ideals of self-culture and self-restraint-among the workingmen of Bow, who have been fortunate, so far as I can perceive, in the possession (if in one case unhappily only temporary possession) of two such men of undoubted ability and honesty to direct their divided c

of time would have been Arthur Constant's wife. It was a painting for which he had sat to her while alive, and she had stifled yet pampered her grief by working hard at it since his death. The fact added the last touch of pathos to the occasion. Crowl's face was hidden behind his red handkerchief; even th

trait. Tom rose, pale and excited. His hand faltered as he touched the cord. He seemed o

umanity. A thrill ran through the room-there was a low, undefinable murmur. O, the pathos and the tragedy of it! Every eye was fixed, misty with emotion, upon the dead man in the picture and the living man who stood, pale and agitated, and visibly una