My Very Odd Experience.

Cromwell Argus, Volume XXIV, Issue 1228, 1 November 1892, Page 2

My Very Odd Experience.

I am a commercial traveller, and when travelling long distances time hangs very heavily on my hands, for want of something to do. A few days ago, while travelling from Newcastle to Whitehaven, I was perusing my favourite paper, when my eye fell on the following: 'To. Authors.—One guinea a column is paid for original contributions.' I had seen this notioe every week, dating from the first few weeks this noted journal of« Fact, fun, and fiction' entered " on its remarkable career, but now it . suggested to me an idea. Why not, when travelling, devote my time to contributing to this paper? No sooner thought of than out came my note-book, and I travelled some miles further in deep thought, endeavourmg to find a subject on whioh to base my story. At length I came to the eon«elusion that I had got a column or two of interesting matter, so I commenced writing. After having half-filled my notebook, and concluded the last chapter of the tale, I closed my book just as the train began to come to a standstill, ana i heard the porters' voioes crying out' WhiteThis being my destination for the present I emerged from the compartment, put'my luggage (two sample bags) in the left-luggage offioe, and went off in search of diggingß. I had not proceeded far when I noticed a card in a window on whioh was printsd«Apartments. I made inquiries about the rooms, and was shown over them by the landlady. The price being favourable and her rooms comfortable, I engaged them for a fortnight. She seemed to look on me with suspicion, so I tried to assure her of <ny integrity and respectability by remarking that I was a commercial traveller. She still seemed very dubious, and remarked apologetically : . , •Ton haven't much luggage, sir. £i $& WfUi HttteScarry.Ihavej..loft at the station; and now, if you please, I will take some tea, Mrs. Smith,' I replied. • m , While she was preparing this meal I • - took out my book, and began to go over, my literary effort, when the landlady entered to spread the table. • By-the-bye, sir, may I make bold to ask your name ?' • «Oh,' I replied, half jokingly, assuming the name I had given to a character in my story, * Edwards is my name.' I little * thought how much trouble I should pass through as the result of an assumed cognomen. ; , ...... Having finished preparing tea, she withdrew, and onoe more I was alone. Presently I went for a stroll round the town, and then on to the pier. There I saw a bill announcing that the s.s. L%dy Flind ran twice weeklv to Belfast. I had often thought I should like to see Belfast, so not being overburdened with business, I determined to go with the steamer on Thursday. . In the meantime I did my business during the day, and spent my evenings in writing out my tale on several sheets of note-paper, preparatory to forwarding it to the editor. . . Thursday, the day fixed for my trip to the Emerald Isle, arrived. I got through my business in good time, and, as the boat aid not leave until eight p.m., I thought I would have a game of billiards at the Station Hotel, bo thither I made my way. While watohing a game, I remembered . that I. had not told my landlady of my £fateiitiens, and looking at my watch I found I had ten minutes in whioh to go to my rooms, gather my papers, and inform Mrs. Smith of my excursion. I rushed into my rooms, and while I hastily gathered my scattered sheets of the manuscript, explained to Mrs. Smith : • Going to Belfast —must run—back on Monday. Good day !' When I arrived at the pier the vessel was already in motion, but I got on board, and soon the town of Whitehaven grew less and less distinct, until it gradually disappeared from sight. Having settled down in the saloon, I began to wonder whatever my landlady would think, for I had not paid "her a farthing in mj hurry and exoitement, but I promised myself I would make it all right on my return. We landed at Belfast at seven o'olock on Friday morning. I took a room at a temperance hotel, and prepared myself for a look round the city. I had returned to my rooms to tea in the evening, when a knock came at the door. The waiter informed me that two gentlemen wished to see me, so I told him to show them in. Presently two tall gentlemen entered. Not recognising them, however, I bade them be seated, when one of them remarked : ' I think you're Mr. Edwards ? ' I was puzzled for a moment. • Well, yes,' I replied, remembering my tale; ' I am known by that name, but . you have the advantage of me. To what, may I ask, do I owe the honour of this visit?'

In reply one of them handed me his card, on which was printed : 4 F. P. B , ' Detective, 1 Belfast City Police, • Ireland.' * Well, I fail to understand the nature of your visit even now,' said I. * Oh jes, of coarse, we expected that; bail it is no good beating round tbe bush, *Mr. Edwards. I wish to ask you a few questions.' ' Proceed, theii,' I replied. * Tour name is Edwards, yon admit. 4 "Well—er—that is a name I used on one occasion.' 'On Thursday evening you left Whitehaven ?' * Yes.' 4 Were you, when in that town, lodging at the bouse of a Mrs. Smith ?' * Certainly I was.' 4 Then you are theman we want, and before I state the offence with which you are oharged, be careful what you say, as we shall use it as evidence against you.' More mystified than ever, and boiling over with rage and indignation, I thundered out: — 4 Why the dickens don't you come to the point P What blundering tomfooling is this ? In search of me !—you warn me ! —offence!—-charge !—evidence 1' 4 Now Mr. Edwards,' he interposed,' do not make a disturbance. I will read tbe charge, and then yon can oome with us quietly, and no one will be any the wiser.' Proceeding, he said: ' Yon are charged on your own confession with murder; that is all I can tell you at present. My

duty is to arrest you, so we will prooeed at onoe to the station.'

In vain I tried to persuade the officer that he had made a great mistake, and that I knew nothing of the matter. When I became lees excited I saw that the best way was to proceed in a cab to the station, and explain matters there. A oab was procured, and while riding I tried to think. I pinched myself to see if I were dreaming. What did it mean ? Surely there was a glaring mistake ? But I knew not a soul in all Ireland who could vindioate my character, and so my thoughts ran on until I was brought back to my senses by the offioer, who suddenly said, «Here we are,' and I was marched through a hall into the offioe, where a charge-sheet was filled in, and I was looked in a cell, remonstrance being of no avail. Having been in the cell some hours, I bethought myself of my story, so I pulled the sheets of paper out of 'my pocket. The light was, however, too bad to enable me to read by. Determined to do something, I commenoed counting the sheets of paper, and found |that, instead of there being thirty sheets, there were only twenty-nine. I counted again and still there was one missing. This was very annoying, inasmuoh as I had intended posting my • story' on my arrival at Belfast.

The next thing that puzzled me was my inability to discover from whioh part of the tale the sheet was missing, for, as I said before, the oell was very dark. I felt in all my pookets, not onoe, but about a dozen times, but failed to discover the lost sheet,'and so I oame to the conclusion that in my hurry I had left it at Whitehaven. Some time passed by, and then a warder lit the gas in the corridor, and a stream of light found its way through the hole in the oell door. I onoe more took out my papers, and eagerly read them through, but the most interesting part of the tale was missing—the confession of the villain, Edwards. • What! Yes, I see it all now,' I exoitsdly exclaimed. * Warder!' I shouted. * Now, oan't yDU make less noise there ?' answered that functionary, thrusting his faoe in at the hole in the door.

• Pleas 6 tell those two gentlemen who arrested me that I wish to speak to them immediately.' ' Going to confess ? ' asked one. • Yes,' I replied; • but not to a crime. Will you tell me if the confession I made was on a sheet of paper like that ?' One of them took the sheet, remarking that they had not yet got full particulars, merely a wire. I passed a bad night in the cell, and awoke early next morning. About nine o'olock I was informed that the English police had arrived. The superintendent of police from Whitehaven then oame to my oell, and I explained to him that I had been writing a tale, and in gakbering the loos" pages of paper together at my lodgings I hail accidentally left one sheet out. I then handed the twenty-nine sheets to him, and he went away. Presently he returned, laughing, saying : ' You have had a narrow escape. How oame you to use as your own name that of the man you call Edwards in your story ? ' I explained that my name was rather a long one, and that I just gave Mrs. Smith that name as I happened to be writing at the time. He then took me into the office, and handed me the missing sheet, which read as follows :-

'My name is not Edwards. The youog man bearing this name worked by ne in America. I quarrelled with him, and in an angry moment I slew him and buried him. As bis father had not seen him for many years, I came to pass myself off as his son, but I was followed by the police. Now I am going away again ; do not seek me, for you will never find me alive again.—JOE MULLINS.' When I had finished reading it I laughed lond and long, and so did all the officers and men. We had a high time of it that night at my hotel, and next morning I, together with the polioemen from England, sailed for Whitehaven. When we arrived there, the piers were crowded with people, evidently looking for someone on board. A cab was waiting for us, so as soon as we landed we entered it, amid such exolamations as * That's him with the silk hat on!' ' Don't he look happy for a murderer ? ' etc.

Arrived at the station, matters were explained and apologies offered, and we parted the best of friends. Poor Mrs. Smith had a splendid tea ready for me, and with her apron in her eye-oorner she said :

' I thought you couldn't a-done suoh a thing.'

The townsfolk soon heird through the papers that the whole affair was a mistake, and they considered it a great joke, but it taught met lesson—never to lie, even in half-joking fashion.

A FRIEND IN NEED. Jinks : ‘ Halloa, howdy do, Blinks ? I say, old f. llow, come home and take tea with me.’ Blinks ; ‘ Really, I am scarcely presentable in these ’ Jinks: ‘ Bother the clothes! That’s all right. Come along. My wife and I value people at their trub worth; we don’t go by their tailors’ bills. Como along ’

Sam Jinks (half an hour later) : * Ah, here we are. My dear, allow me to present my friend, Mr. Blinks. Mr. Blink*, Mr?,. Jinks. By the way, my dear, thoee things you told me to order I forgot pll about until too late to get to the shop.'

Mrs. Jinks (aghast) : ‘ What! Forgot ? Um—urn—er —it's of no consequence at all, my dear, not the least. Happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Blinks. What delightful weather we are having. Please excuse me a moment,’ Jinks (in a whisper, after Mrs. J. has disappeared): ‘ Worked like a charm.’ Blinks: ‘ What worked '( ’ Jinks : * She didn’t say a word about my forgetting those things with company present. That’s why I brought you.’

He who plants a tree does well; he who fells and saws it into planks does well; lie who makes a bench of the plank does well; he who, sitting on the bench, teaches a childf does better than the rest.—Farrar.