She gave me a look as if wondering at my impudence, and then threw back the corner of the shawl over the baby’s shoulder as I had desired. Her look of contempt was beginning to be reflected in the faces around her, but I heeded the looks no more than if they had been the glassy stares of so many wax figures. I took out my pocket-book, turned open the leaves, and produced the shred of tartan. Then I spread the torn part of the shawl flat on the baby’s shoulder, placed the wedged-shaped piece I had taken from my pocket-book in the opening, and found that in shape, colour, and size they fitted and corresponded exactly. The woman followed my movements with no great interest. Her indifference might have been assumed or caused by the door being about to be opened. “Where were you this morning between four and six o’clock?” I demanded, when I had satisfied myself that I had at last got the right shawl. “That’s nothing to you,” she indignantly answered, with a slight flash of annoyance. “It is everything; and if you won’t answer it here, you must go with me up to the Police Office and refresh your memory there.” The woman turned right round and looked me full in the face, more in astonishment than alarm. Then some one whispered to her— “It’s M^cGovan, the detective,” with a significant nudge on the arm, and in a moment she became terribly agitated. “Do you think I stole it?” she chokingly exclaimed. “No, not exactly.” “Then what for do you want me to gang to the Office?” “That is not for me to explain, but go you must.” “I winna! I’ve trampit a’ this way to see my puir man, and I maun see him.” I brought out my handcuffs, whereupon the assembled crowd began to groan and hoot and abuse me to their hearts’ content. Would I drag a poor creature like that away to jail at such a moment, before she could even see her invalid husband? I replied that I would not drag her if she was inclined to walk. Then names were showered upon me enough to have stocked a slang dictionary. I pointed out to the crowd that the door was now open, and that through it was their way, while ours was in quite a different direction; and at length, with the aid of a policeman who chanced to pass the head of the street, I convinced them that I was right. The woman was now crying bitterly, and the child was screaming in concert. “What am I ta’en awa’ for? Am I charged as a thief?” she at length sobbed as I led her off. “Not yet. Just keep your mind easy for a little. It’s only your baby’s shawl as yet that is in trouble. Why are you afraid to say where you got it, and when?” She could not see that anyone had a right to ask that. She had not stolen it, nor had she bought it, but she declined to say more, till she saw how serious things looked at the Office.