Detective and mystery stories, English; Police -- Fiction; Short stories
"Be it so," she said joyfully; "and be quick, for this weather is
terrible."
Ten minutes had not passed when I returned with half-a-dozen officers,
and found Madame Jaubert still at her post. We followed her up the
court, caught Martin sure enough asleep upon a wretched pallet of straw
in one of the alley hovels, and walked him off, terribly scared and
surprised, to the nearest station-house, where he passed the remainder
of the night.
The next day Martin proved an _alibi_ of the distinctest, most
undeniable kind. He had been an inmate of Clerkenwell prison for the
last three months, with the exception of just six days previous to our
capture of him; and he was of course at once discharged. The reward was
payable only upon conviction of the offender, and the disappointment of
poor Madame Jaubert was extreme. She wept bitterly at the thought of
being compelled to continue her present disreputable mode of life, when
a thousand francs--a sum she believed Martin's capture would have
assured her--besides sufficient for her traveling expenses and decent
outfit, would, she said, purchase a partnership in a small but
respectable millinery shop in Paris. "Well," I remarked to her, "there
is no reason for despair. You have not only proved your sincerity and
good faith, but that you possess a knowledge--how acquired you best
know--of the haunts and hiding-places of burglars. The reward, as you
may have seen by the new placards, has been doubled; and I have a strong
opinion, from something that has reached me this morning, that if you
could light upon one Armstrong, _alias_ Rowden, it would be as certainly
yours as if already in your pocket."
"Armstrong--Rowden!" repeated the woman with anxious simplicity; "I
never heard either of these names. What sort of a person is he?"
I described him minutely; but Madame Jaubert appeared to entertain
little or no hope of discovering his whereabout; and ultimately went
away in a very disconsolate mood, after, however, arranging to meet me
the next evening.
I met her as agreed. She could obtain, she said, no intelligence of any
reliable worth; and she pressed me for further particulars. Was
Armstrong a drinking, a gaming, or a play-going man? I told her all I
knew of his habits, and a gleam of hope glanced across her face as one
or two indications were mentioned. I was to see her again on the morrow.
It came; she was as far off as ever; and I advised her to waste no
further time in the pursuit, but to at once endeavor to regain a
position of respectability by the exercise of industry in the trade or
business in which she was reputedly well-skilled. Madame Jaubert laughed
scornfully; and a gleam, it seemed to me, of her never entirely subdued
insanity shot out from her deep-set, flashing eyes. It was finally
settled that I should meet her once more at the same place at about
eight o'clock the next evening.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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