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Updated: May 31, 2025
"'Miscreants unknown," read my grandfather, following the paragraph with his forefinger; "'escaped from the bridewell, leaving no clew to their identity, except the letter H, cut on one of the benches. 'Five dollars reward offered for the apprehension of the perpetrators. Sho! I hope Wingate will catch them."
The atmosphere of the room seemed to have completely changed during the last few minutes. Wingate was no longer the conventional and casual caller. His face had hardened, his eyes were brighter, his manner ominous. He was the modern figure of Fate, playing for a desperate stake with cold and deadly earnestness. Dredlinton was simply panic-stricken.
My name, as Gregory Hilliard, was mentioned in despatches; and will be mentioned, again, in that sent by Colonel Wingate, but this time with the addition of Hartley. "It was only accidentally, on the night after that battle, that I learned that my father was the heir to the Marquis of Langdale, and I thereupon obtained six months' leave, to come here."
Place these specs on your nose and I promise you that through those magic lenses you shall see your husband this very night. Do they fit you?" questioned Jeremiah Long. "The bows fit perfectly, but I cannot see a thing through the lenses," answered Grace laughingly, as a match flared up in the hands of Nora Wingate and was held before Grace Harlowe's face. "That is as it should be.
"Or maybe it's for Molly," she added. "Ef she's ever heard a word from either Sam Woodhull or " "Hush! I do not want to hear that name!" broke in her husband. "Trouble enough he has made for us!" His wife made no comment for a moment, still watching the stranger, who was now riding up the long approach, little noted by Wingate as he sat, moody and distrait.
Maken, our manager, I suppose?" she enquired. Wingate shook his head. "As a matter of fact," he confessed, "I know very few theatrical people." "What a pity you're not fond of the stage!" she sighed, with a world of regret in her very blue eyes. "You might have a theatre of your own, and a leading lady, and all the rest of it."
"My God, it's Wingate!" the tenant of the room exclaimed. "John Wingate!" Wingate, who had succeeded in opening the windows, came over and shook hands with the man whom he had come to visit. "How are you, Andrew?" he said. "What on earth's got you that you choose to live in an atmosphere like this!" Slate, who had recovered from his surprise, slipped dejectedly back into his place.
The imperturbability of the inspector was not proof against such an amazing statement. "Good God!" he exclaimed. "Was he ill?" "Not that we know of," Wingate replied. "The doctor, who is on his way here, will doubtless be able to inform us upon that point, I have always understood that his heart was scarcely sound."
"Pleas'm, Miss Elinory, make it a little bit longer, 'cause I want her to have a beau," besought the small mother, as she anxiously watched the measuring of the skirt. "Want her to have a beau?" asked Miss Wingate with the scissors suspended over the bit of pink muslin which matched exactly her own ruffled skirts. "Yes'm!
Instantly a perfect whirlwind of spangled feathers veered around and faced the cascade of frills, and a volume of defiant hisses fairly filled the air. Teether squealed and Miss Wingate retreated to the bounds of the fence. The Doctor laughed in the most heartless manner, and still Spangles held her ground.
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