REVELATIONS
Spargo on his and with all his and roused. He had not been sure, since entering the "King of Madagascar," that he was going to anything material to the Middle Temple Murder; he had more than once that this old gin-drinking was him, for the purpose of drink and money from him. But now, at the of from her, he all about Mother Gutch's propensities, eyes, and face; he only saw in her somebody who tell him something. He on her eagerly.
"You say that John Maitland's son didn't die!" he exclaimed.
"The boy did not die," Mother Gutch.
"And that you know where he is?" asked Spargo.
Mother Gutch her head.
"I didn't say that I know where he is, man," she replied. "I said
I what she did with him."
"What, then?" Spargo.
Mother Gutch herself up in a of dignity, and Spargo with a look.
"That's the secret, man," she said. "I'm to sell that secret, but not for two half-sovereigns and two or three of cold gin. If Maitland left all that money you told Jane Baylis of, when I was to you from the hedge, my secret's something."
Spargo his of to Miss Baylis. Here was an result of it.
"Nobody but me can help you to Maitland's boy," Mother Gutch, "and I shall to be paid accordingly. That's plain language, man."
Spargo the in for a minute or two. Could this wretched, old woman be in of a which would lead to the of the of the Middle Temple Murder? Well, it would be a thing for the Watchman if the up of came through one of its men. And the Watchman was noted for being to in out money on all of objects: it had money like water on much less than this.
"How much do you want for your secret?" he asked, to his companion.
Mother Gutch to out a in her gown. It was to Spargo to how very and normal this old had become; he did not that her nerves had been all a-quiver and on when he met her, and that a to her of in quantity had and them; he was her with as the most old person he had met, and he was almost of her as he waited for her decision. At last Mother Gutch spoke.
"Well, man," she said, "having matters, and having a right to look well to myself, I think that what I should to have would be one of those annuities. A nice, annuity, paid weekly—none of your or quarterlies, but regular and punctual, every Saturday morning. Or Monday morning, as was to the parties concerned—but and regular. I know a good many ladies in my of life as annuities, and it's a great to have 'em paid weekly."
It to Spargo that Mrs. Gutch would of her on the day it was paid, that day to be Monday or Saturday, but that, after all, was no of his, so he came to principles.
"Even now you haven't said how much," he remarked.
"Three a week," Mother Gutch. "And cheap, too!"
Spargo hard for two minutes. The might—might!—lead to something big. This old woman would drink herself to death a year or two. Anyhow, a hundreds of was nothing to the Watchman. He at his watch. At that hour—for the next hour—the great man of the Watchman would be at the office. He jumped to his feet, and alert.
"Here, I'll take you to see my principals," he said. "We'll along in a taxi-cab."
"With all the in the world, man," Mother Gutch; "when you've me that other half-sovereign. As for principals, I'd talk with masters than with men—though I no to you." Spargo, that he was in for it, over the second half-sovereign, and himself in ordering a taxi-cab. But when that came he had to wait while Mrs. Gutch a third of and purchased a of the same to put in her pocket. At last he got her off, and in to the Watchman office, where the hall-porter and the messenger boys at her in amazement, well used as they were to folk, and he got her to his own room, and locked her in, and then he the presence of the mighty.
What Spargo said to his and to the great man who the and of the Watchman he knew. It was for him that they were with the of the Middle Temple Murder, and saw that there might be an in the of which Spargo had got the promise. At any rate, they Spargo to his room, on seeing, and with the lady he had locked up there.
Spargo's room of gin, but Mother Gutch was than ever. She upon being to and in and proper form, and in terms with them going into any particulars. The was all for with her until something be done to out what of truth there was in her, but the proprietor, after her up in his own fashion, took his two out of the room.
"We'll what the old woman has to say on her own terms," he said. "She may have something to tell that is of the in this case: she has something to tell. And, as Spargo says, she'll drink herself to death in about as a time as possible. Come back—let's her story." So they returned to the gin-scented atmosphere, and a document was out by which the of the Watchman himself to pay Mrs. Gutch the of three a week for life (Mrs. Gutch on the of the "every Saturday morning, and regular") and then Mrs. Gutch was to tell her tale. And Mrs. Gutch settled herself to do so, and Spargo prepared to take it down, word for word.
"Which the story, as that man called it, is not so long as a monkey's so as a Manx cat's, gentlemen," said Mrs. Gutch; "but full of meat as an egg. Now, you see, when that Maitland at Market Milcaster came off, I was to Miss Jane Baylis at Brighton. She a boarding-house there, in Kemp Town, and close to the sea-front, and a very good thing she out of it, and had saved a bit, and having, like her sister, Mrs. Maitland, had a little left her by her father, as was at one time a here in London, she had a good of money. And all that money was in this here Maitland's hands, every penny. I very well the day when the news came about that of Maitland the bank. Miss Baylis, she was like a thing when she saw it in the paper, and she'd it an hour she was off to Market Milcaster. I up to the station with her, and she told me then she got in the train that Maitland had all her and her savings, and her sister's, his wife's, too, and that she all would be lost."
"Mrs. Maitland was then dead," Spargo without looking up from his writing-block.
"She was, man, and a good thing, too," Mrs. Gutch. "Well, away Miss Baylis, and no more did I or see for nearly a week, and then she comes, and a little boy with her—which was Maitland's. And she told me that night that she'd every she had in the world, and that her sister's money, what ought to have been the child's, was gone, too, and she said her say about Maitland. However, she saw well to that child; nobody have better. And very soon after, when Maitland was sent to prison for ten years, her and me talked about things. 'What's the use,' says I to her, 'of your so of that child, and looking after it as you do, and it, and so on?' I says. 'Why not?' says she. 'Tisn't yours,' I says, 'you haven't no right to it,' I says. 'As soon as its father comes out,' says I,' he'll come and it, and you can't do nothing to stop him.' Well, gentlemen, if you'll me, did I see a woman look as she did when I says all that. And she up and that Maitland should see or touch the child again—not under no whatever."
Mrs. Gutch paused to take a little from her pocket-flask, with an as to the of her heart. She resumed, presently, refreshed.
"Well, gentlemen, that notion, about Maitland's taking the child away from her to on her mind, and she used to talk to me at times about it, always saying the same thing—that Maitland should have him. And one day she told me she was going to London to see lawyers about it, and she went, and she came back, more satisfied, and a day or two afterwards, there came a who looked like a lawyer, and he stopped a day or two, and he came again and again, until one day she came to me, and she says, 'You don't know who that is that's come so much lately?' she says. 'Not I,' I says, 'unless he's after you.' 'After me!' she says, her head: 'That's the that ought to have married my sister if that Maitland hadn't her into him over!' 'You don't say so!' I says. 'Then by he ought to have been the child's pa!' 'He's going to be a father to the boy,' she says. 'He's going to take him and educate him in the fashion, and make a of him,' she says, 'for his mother's sake.' 'Mercy on us!' says I. 'What'll Maitland say when he comes for him?' 'Maitland'll come for him,' she says, 'for I'm going to here, and the boy'll be gone then. This is all being done,' she says, 'so that the child'll know his father's shame—he'll know who his father was.' And true enough, the boy was taken away, but Maitland came she'd gone, and she told him the child was dead, and I see a man so cut up. However, it wasn't no of mine. And so there's so much of the secret, gentlemen, and I would like to know if I ain't good value."
"Very good," said the proprietor. "Go on." But Spargo intervened.
"Did you the name of the who took the boy away?" he asked.
"Yes, I did," Mrs. Gutch. "Of I did. Which it was
Elphick."
