Third=Class Crimes.

Cromwell Argus, Volume XXX, Issue 1513, 10 May 1898, Page 7

Third=Class Crimes.

[Au. RiG»i’3 Strictly RBsimvto.]

STORIES PICKED UP IN THIRO-CLASS RAILWAY CARRIAGES.

BY HARRY BLYTH, Author of •• Secrets of the Loadoa Squares.”

GALLED TO ACCOUNT AT KINO’S GROSS.

Were I asked to name the “shadiest ” district of Loudon, the one where there is most subdued and veiled crime, I should pitch on that part of the Metropolis which is bounded on the south by Holborn, on the north by Euston-road, and tbe cast and west by Grey’s luu-laue and Tottenham Court-road respectively. It has wealth, and it has poverty. Smug respectability is found cheek by jowl with cardsharpers, confidence men, vile women, and degraded fellows who subsist on their unholy earnings. It boasts of quite a number of undiscovered murders. Even in the once aristocratic squares may be found lodgers who have good reason for fighting shy of the daylight. The presence in it of three important railway termini has not tended to elevate its morality. The narrower streets have a depressing appearance, and suggest the secretiveness of their inhabitants. No time since its opening has the Euston-road been a popular thoroughfare. It is livelier now than at any time in its history. Some such thoughts as these passed through my mind one murky November morning as a “ hansom ” took me from the Strand to St. Pancras Station, I remembered the district when half the front gardens were filled with marbles and plaster of Paris casts, when Fnmpton's Music-hall flourished by the side of St. Pancras Church, and the site of the present Midland terminus was occupied by a crescent with a tall-steeplod place of worship in the middle, of it, when the underground railway was merely a vision, and a full tide of revelry ran Cremorne-wards. Russell-square had an aggressive dignity which the passage of omnibuses through it has now finally destroyed. Great Coram-street was accounted then an eminently good address. Aristocratic families had dealings with Marchmont-street tradesmen, Staid, wealthy people did not disdain to live ic Burton-crescent,

I was bound for Manchester. A married aunt Jj of mine lived there, but I bad never seen her, & for she had kept herself strangely aloof from y all the other members of her family. Some trouble had overtaken her in connection with p her married daughter. Much to my surprise, she put herself iuto communication with me, a aud begged that I would pay her a visit, so n that she might have the benefit of my advice. It was inconvenient for me to go, ard she had a no claim on me as a relation. Hitherto she had chosen to ignore my existence. She had, y (hough, enclosed a cheque for a handsome sum a in her letter,and I preferred to earn the amount r it represented rather than return it with a refusal to meet her wishes. 1 On the platform I was glad to meet an old j. acquaintance, Tom Wilson, the well-known q lawyer, whose practice is chiefly confined to 1 criminal cases. He also was bound for Man- | Chester. I was rejoiced to hear it. The morning was dull and dark, not the sort of day to t make one contemplate a journey north with any relish, especially by one s self. “ I should not be a bit surprised,” ho said, ■wheu we had settled ourselves comfortably in a carriage and lighted with cigars, “if it turns out that we are both pretty much on the same 1 errand. I fancy you are related to my client. c At any rate, she mentioned your name in her ' letter to me.” 8 “ I am going to see an aunt of miue, named Mrs. Helton. She is a widow and said to be 1 wealthy.” 1 “ The same,” he answered. “ That lady’s i house is my destination also. I suppose you J know all about the business in hand ?” s “ I know nothing at all of it. After ray ( mother married she ceased all correspondence . with her own family or they did with her. I j don’t know which way it was. At any rate, I never knew anything of my uncles or aunts. To receive a letter from Mrs. Reltou quite sur- • prised me. She only said she was in trouble, * and wanted my help. Probably you know much < more about her than I do.” ‘ ■ “I suppose she wants us both to meet her,” < , said Wilson, “ and perhaps, knowing we were I friends, she calculated on our going down ] (together. I may as well tell you the position of 1 affairs. It will save explanations when we get , [to the house. I can t tell you the story first t (hand for 1 have only lately had any knowledge ( :of your aunt. I must repeat it as it was told [me. She had only one child, a daughter . named Nelly, whose father died soon after her * birth, so her bringing up devolved entirely on ' her mother. This is frequently the case when the father is alive. lam given to understand < that she was very beautiful, and a little way- t ward. She had no money of her own, but if her ] mother did not marry again it was reasonable 1 t» suppose she would inherit her wealth at the e old lady’s death. When the girl grew up she j ; had several suitors. There were only two who found any favour in her eyes—Will Hall and j Richard Ackroyd. It happened that they had , been school-fellows together, and were fast J ■friends. Strangely enough they retained their 1 regard for one another, even when they found 1 themselves rivals. Both of them had to make i their way in the world. The only prospect i either had was hard work. Mrs. Helton did not | approve of the one or the other. Her daugh- ] ter ought to do better, she said. Nelly had a different opinion, but she could not determine : fwhich one she liked best. She shilly-shallied ] [between the two to their irritation and discom- ( (fort. At last, and after much vexation, Will [Hall succeeded in winning her consent to be Ibis wife, and Ackroyd retired from the contest much broken in spirit. No marriage was possible just then, for Hall had barely sufficient to [keep himself. He thought he could improve his ■position in Australia. He determined to go out there for a couple of years. He was either to eepd home for Nelly or to come back to her, according to the way fortune dealt with him. ffhe separation cut her up terribly. For a time he wrote regularly and in the most affectionate manner. Suddenly his letters ceased, not only to her, but to his own parents. Eighteen months passed without any word coming 1 from him. Knowing his attentive disposition 1 his people and Nelly came to the conclusion that he was dead. They instituted inquiries in Aus- 1 tralia. All trace of him slopped at one afternoon J (when he and a friend had taken a small i boat out into Melbourne Bay. The boat had i never been returned to the owner. No one seemed to have seen him since. It was decided , that an accident had happened to him and that Jse was drowned. Ackroyd now re-appeared on ithc scene. Again he weed Nelly, and this time ;with success. They were married, much to the chagrin of Mrs. Reltou, who declared that her homo would always be open to her daughter, [but never to that daughter’s husband. For some lime the young people lived exceedingly happily [together. She proved a good wife, and he an (indulgent, careful husband. The business he iwas engaged in took him from home a great ideal,but Nelly neither complained about feeling *he days dull, nor did she at first gad about. (The little cloud which at first dimmed the dofinestic horizon arose through the missing of things from the house. Small articles of value disappeared in the most remarkable way. [Money, too, was purloined. Servant after servant was dismissed on suspicion, but the thefts iwent on the same. Ackroyd was extremely puzzled how to account for his continuous losses, i»nd his wife professed to be equally perplexed. (Not a week passed without something going. fJCo make matters worse, they visited a friend’s house some article of jewellery or a niece of money would be missed after they left. ■At last the horrible truth forced itself upon him. Eis wife was a thief I He laid a trap for her. ißhe fell into it. He said nothing at the time (Out'of this misery grew the greater one of the ■render what she wanted money for—what she did with it ? She had everything a woman in her position should desire, and she was not kept short of pocket money. He began to be afraid jtbafc she must be a secret drunkard. This seemed *3i» only possible explanation. Yet he ponld ao sign of spirits being slyly introBnced the house. Quietly he instituted the (Dost rigocoos inquiries as to his wife’s beha.vh»ur [jffßTjg lug Utawai atemces*

nothing to be alleged against her, except that she was often out for some hours at a time. Seeing thnt she bad no children to attend to, it was not remarkable that she did not stick in the bouse day after day. _ What became of the money she got on the articles she was a deep mystery, for she had no poor relations to drag at*her purse strings. He resolved to watch her. When she thought he was away on one of his journeys ho was close to the house in a four-wheeled cab, the blinds of wbich so arranged that ho could see out without being very well recognised himself. He saw her leave the house, and the driver was told to follow her. She led them to a disreputable-looking street close to King’s-cross. She entered a shabby house, the front door of which seemed to be kept afways open. Ho listened intently at the bottom oLthe stairs and hoard her enter a back room on the second floor. Ho wont after her into it. It bore the impress of the deepest poverty. On a rickety bod lay an emaciated man, who was evidently desperately ill. # Nolly had brought nourishing things for the invalid. She was arranging them on the broken chair by the bedside when Ackroyd entered. On seeing him she uttered a piercing scream, and fell on her knees praying to him and God for mercy. In the sick man. though disease had woefully changed him, Richard Ackroyd recognised his old friend and rival. Will Hall. “ ‘ Merciful heavens I’ ha cried. \\ hat does all this mean ?’ “ ‘ My wife 1 »« Hall commenced speaking with difficulty. Ackroyd raised bis clenched list as though to strike him as he lay there. He restrained himself. Taking Nelly by both her wrists ho dragged her from the house and into the cab winch was waiting for him a little way off. It seems that before Hall went to Australia he and Ni lly —to show their faith in on© another, and to make assurance, doubly sure—were secretly married. Hall, when he got out to Australia, fell under the spell of a woman who was the wile of a man whose acquaintance he had made. They eloped together, and Hall so planned that his English friends would be led to suppose that he was drowned. His infatuation for his paramour soon passed away. He returned to England broken in health and ruined in pocket.

Mrs. Helton had long since left Loudon for Manchester, and be could gain no tidings of her, or of his wife. He bad nob the means to pursue his inquiries far. Perhaps, after what had happened, he was not anxious to face his wife. One day ho met Nelly. The encounter terrified her. She did noc want to be dragged from Ackroyd, and she was fearfully alarmed lost, were the truth known, she would be prosecuted for bigamy. On the spur of the moment she did a foolish thing. She told him a tissue of falsehoods. Her mother was dead, she said, and had left all her money to charities. She had been compelled to go into a situation. Her mistress was very strict, and only allowed her out occasionally. She said she would help him with money if he would agree not to molest her in any way. The old love between them had quite vanished. He was ill and starving, and so readily fell in with her views. Now came the desperate struggle to find money to keep Hall silent. So she took to.stealing. It was the only plan that she could think of. The poor woman must have been tortured by remorse day and night. Ackroyd wrote all these details to Mrs. Reltou, who is distracted. She communicated with me, and, as it seems, with

you.” “ What a nasty business I What do you propose to do ?” , , , . “ Nellv’s second marriage must be kept dart from Hall. She must get a divorce from him and be married again to Ackroyd. Fortunately there are no children ’ As events turned out there was no occasion to attempt this scheme. When we reached Mrs. Helton’s house wo were stunned by the news that she had dropped down dead about two hours before. This catastrophe had been brought about by the receipt of a telegram from Ackroyd. It was brutally terse. It ran thus, “ Nelly killed herself this morning with vermin powder.” Mrs. Helton had left a will made sometime before these revelations. In it she had bequeathed all her money to her daughter, and to her husband should Nelly die first. So Will Hall had returned to England for a good thing. He was legal heir, and now he is busily employed in drinking himself to death with the moiiey that so unexpectedly fell to him.