“Arrest Madame Duchesne,” I cried, “and her accomplice.” Pointing to the latter, I continued, “That man has stolen Lady A.’s watch, and it is locked in that cabinet.” What a scene of confusion there was immediately! Not only Lady A., but several other people discovered that they had been robbed, and the cabinet was found to contain a great quantity of stolen valuables, among them being Mrs Bevan’s much-prized pendant. My discovery was only made in the nick of time. In another twelve hours the birds would have flown, for the real Madame Duchesne, the lady from whom they had stolen the letters of introduction which had obtained them the entree to London society, had arrived in London that day. An accomplice had warned them of the fact, and as they knew that this garden party they were giving at the gorgeous house they had hired would be their last opportunity for some time, they had determined to make a large haul and decamp that same evening. Luckily for many people, I was able to frustrate their intention. At present they are lodging in infinitely less luxurious quarters, and several members of the upper classes are much more careful than formerly as to whom they associate with by virtue of letters of introduction. VIII. A Pattern of Virtue I wonder how many people have stood on Waterloo Bridge, looking down upon the ever-moving river, and feeling themselves irresistibly attracted by the weird fascination of its cruel waters! But one cannot wonder at the eerie influence it exerts upon the miserable. One moment’s nerve – one plunge – one splash – a short struggle – and the stress and anguish of life are left behind! And the Hereafter, what of it? It is truly an inscrutable puzzle. But the sudden recollection that an account of earthly doings may be required of us in another world has nerved many a desperate victim of misery to further endurance, and cheated Father Thames of much of his prey. It was different with Lucy Markham. She was so desperate, so despairing, so wildly reckless, that nothing but the forcibly detaining arms which I flung around her would have prevented her from jumping into the river, and putting an end to a young life that had only seen seventeen summers. “Let me go!” she shrieked. “How dare you hinder me? Can I not do as I like with myself?” “No,” I panted, as I vainly strove to avoid the blows with which the frantic girl sought to release herself from my grasp. “I will not let you go until you promise that you will not put an end to your life.” “Let me go!” she repeated. “I will do as I like! All the world has forsaken me, and I owe it no duty now. You can’t hold me much longer, and you shall see how soon I will end it all.” “Never! If I don’t get your promise, I will scream for help, and then you will be locked up until your senses come back to you.”