nothing be done?” “Nothing,” says I. “Will you allow me to call
him over here,” says he, “that his father may not see it done?” “I
don’t object to that,” says I; “but unfortunately, Mr. Phibbs, I
can’t allow of any communication between you. If any was
attempted, I should have to interfere directly. Perhaps you’ll
beckon him over here?’ Mr. Phibbs went to the door and beckoned,
and the young fellow came across the street directly; a smart,
brisk young fellow.
‘”Good morning, sir,” says I. “Good morning, sir,” says he.
“Would you allow me to inquire, sir,” says I, “if you ever had any
acquaintance with a party of the name of Grimwood?” “Grimwood!
Grimwood!” says he. “No!” “You know the Waterloo Road?” “Oh! of
course I know the Waterloo Road!” “Happen to have heard of a young
woman being murdered there?” “Yes, I read it in the paper, and
very sorry I was to read it.” “Here’s a pair of gloves belonging
to you, that I found under her pillow the morning afterwards!”
‘He was in a dreadful state, sir; a dreadful state I “Mr. Wield,”
he says, “upon my solemn oath I never was there. I never so much
as saw her, to my knowledge, in my life!” “I am very sorry,” says
I. “To tell you the truth; I don’t think you ARE the murderer, but
I must take you to Union Hall in a cab. However, I think it’s a
case of that sort, that, at present, at all events, the magistrate
will hear it in private.”
‘A private examination took place, and then it came out that this
young man was acquainted with a cousin of the unfortunate Eliza
Grimwood, and that, calling to see this cousin a day or two before
Page 87
Dickens, Charles – Reprinted Pieces
the murder, he left these gloves upon the table. Who should come
in, shortly afterwards, but Eliza Grimwood! “Whose gloves are
these?” she says, taking ’em up. “Those are Mr. Trinkle’s gloves,”
says her cousin. “Oh!” says she, “they are very dirty, and of no
use to him, I am sure. I shall take ’em away for my girl to clean
the stoves with.” And she put ’em in her pocket. The girl had
used ’em to clean the stoves, and, I have no doubt, had left ’em
lying on the bedroom mantelpiece, or on the drawers, or somewhere;
and her mistress, looking round to see that the room was tidy, had
caught ’em up and put ’em under the pillow where I found ’em.
That’s the story, sir.’
II. – THE ARTFUL TOUCH
‘One of the most BEAUTIFUL things that ever was done, perhaps,’
said Inspector Wield, emphasising the adjective, as preparing us to
expect dexterity or ingenuity rather than strong interest, ‘was a
move of Sergeant Witchem’s. It was a lovely idea!
‘Witchem and me were down at Epsom one Derby Day, waiting at the
station for the Swell Mob. As I mentioned, when we were talking
about these things before, we are ready at the station when there’s
races, or an Agricultural Show, or a Chancellor sworn in for an
university, or Jenny Lind, or anything of that sort; and as the
Swell Mob come down, we send ’em back again by the next train. But
some of the Swell Mob, on the occasion of this Derby that I refer
to, so far kidded us as to hire a horse and shay; start away from
London by Whitechapel, and miles round; come into Epsom from the
opposite direction; and go to work, right and left, on the course,
while we were waiting for ’em at the Rail. That, however, ain’t
the point of what I’m going to tell you.
‘While Witchem and me were waiting at the station, there comes up
one Mr. Tatt; a gentleman formerly in the public line, quite an
amateur Detective in his way, and very much respected. “Halloa,
Charley Wield,” he says. “What are you doing here? On the look
out for some of your old friends?” “Yes, the old move, Mr. Tatt.”
“Come along,” he says, “you and Witchem, and have a glass of
sherry.” “We can’t stir from the place,” says I, “till the next