Inspector Robson caught Dick's hand, forced it open, forced a sovereign into it, and closed the young man's fingers over it, holding the hand tight in his to prevent the money being returned. In the execution of a ruthless action the Inspector's muscles were of iron. "If you drop it, or try to give it me back," he said, "I'll lock you up and charge you with loitering for an unlawful purpose. What will Florence think when she sees your name in the papers and my name charging you? Be sensible for once, Dick, if you've any feeling for her." The blood rushed up into Dick's face, and he staggered as if he had been struck; but he recovered himself quickly, and was the same indolent, easy-mannered being as before. "Thank you, uncle; I'll keep the sovereign. Before the week's out I daresay I shall get something to do. The mischief of it is, there's nothing stirring; stagnation's the order of the day. If I could hit upon something startling and be first in the field, I should get well paid for it. Would you object to my dashing on the colour in an article headed, 'A Night in an Inspector's Office.'? I think I could make it lurid." Before the laughing Inspector could reply a constable entered, holding by the arm a poorly dressed woman of woebegone appearance. Her gestures, her sobs, the wild looks she cast around, were those of a woman driven to distraction. Clinging to her skirts was a little girl as woebegone and white-faced as her mother. Inspector Robson instantly straightened himself; he was no longer a private individual, but an officer of the law prepared for duty in whatever complicated shape it presented itself. "She's been here half-a-dozen times to-night, sir," said the constable, "and last night as well, and the night before. She's lost her husband, she says." "My husband--my husband!" moaned the woman. "Find him for me--find him for me! He's gone, gone, gone! Merciful God! What has become of him?" Inspector Robson saw at a glance that here before him was no woman maddened by drink, but a woman suffering from terrible distress; and by a motion of his hand he conveyed an order to the constable, who instantly took his hand from the woman's arm. "What is your husband's name?" asked the Inspector in a gentle tone. "Abel Death, sir. Oh, for God's sake find him for me--find him for me--find him for me!" Tears rolled down her face and choked her voice. Every nerve in her body was quivering with anguish. "How long has he been gone?" asked the Inspector. "Five days, sir, five long, long days." "Was he in employment?" "Yes, sir, yes. Oh, what can have become of him?" "What is the name of his employer?" The agony the woman had endured overcame her, and she could not immediately reply. "Mr. Samuel Boyd, sir, of Catchpole Square," said the child. CHAPTER IX. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF ABEL DEATH.