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'He is looking much better to-day, observed the chaplain, with a glance at the bishop, who was now conversing with Miss Whichello. 'Oh, the poor, dear bishop should have his fortune told by Mother Jael. 'That would hardly be in keeping with his exalted position, Miss Norsham.
'Answers to the name of Jentham, perhaps? suggested Mr Inspector. 'Yes, he called himself Jentham, I believe. I I I wish to see his body; and the little old lady looked anxiously into Tinkler's purple face. 'Miss Whichello, ma'am, said the ex-sergeant with an official air, 'this request requires reflection. Do you know the party in question?
Cargrim felt that he was on the eve of an important discovery; for Tinkler, thinking that Miss Whichello had made a confidant of the chaplain, babbled on innocently, without guessing that his attentive listener was making a base use of him. The shrug of the shoulders with which Cargrim commented on his last remark made Tinkler talk further.
'Not that he would have married her if he could have helped it, went on Miss Whichello, while the bishop looked at the documents, 'but Annie had a little money not much which she was to receive on her wedding day, so the wretch married her and wrote to my dear father for the money, which, of course, under grandfather's will, had to be paid.
'I hope not, I'm sure, wept Miss Whichello. I buried that miserable man at my own expense, as he was Mab's father. And I have had a stone put up to him, with his last name, "Jentham," inscribed on it, so that no one might ask questions, which would have been asked had I written his real name.
'I mean that it is as well to be prepared for the worst, said Cargrim, in his blandest manner. 'The course of true love but you are weary of such trite sayings. Good-day, Miss Whichello! He raised his hat and turned away. 'One last proverb Joy in the morning means grief at night.
'Such information is utterly useless, he said gravely, 'and the people with whom Amaru alias Jentham associated then are doubtless all dead by this time. 'Well, Miss Whichello didn't mention any of his friends, sir, but I daresay it wouldn't be much use if she did. Beyond the man's former name and business as a fiddler she told me nothing.
'I have several times been to an hotel called The Derby Winner, explained the chaplain, 'to see a sick woman; and there I came across this scamp several times. He stays there, I believe! 'What is his name? asked Miss Whichello, hoarsely. 'Jentham, I have been informed. 'Jentham! I don't know the name. 'I don't suppose you know the man either, aunty?
He is satisfied, and that is all that is necessary, you wicked old woman. 'You you leave my house. 'I shall do no such thing. Here I am, and here I'll stay until I speak my mind, and Miss Whichello thumped the floor with her umbrella, while she gathered breath to continue.
The sympathetic reader must guess what George and Mab said to one another. He must fancy how they said it, and he or she must see in his or her mind's eye how young and beautiful and glowing they looked when Miss Whichello, as the prose of their poetry, walked into the room.
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