The Mystery of M. Felix. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold
want to keep my peace of mind. There wouldn't be a wink of sleep for me if I didn't go and fetch my supper beer myself every night. I don't keep a gal, Mr. Winks-"
"Wigg," said that gentleman in correction, with a dreamy look at the beer-jug.
"I beg you a thousand pardons, Mr. Wigg, I'm sure. I don't keep a gal, and that's why my place is always nice and clean, as you see it now. If you want your work done, do it yourself-that's my motter. Not that I can't afford to keep a gal, but Mr. Felix he ses when he come to me about the rooms when I didn't 'ave a blessed lodger in the 'ouse, 'I'll take 'em,' he ses, 'conditionally. You mustn't let a room in the place to anybody but me.' 'But I make my living out of the rooms, sir,' ses I, 'and I can't afford to let 'em remain empty.' 'You can afford,' ses Mr. Felix, 'if I pay for 'em remaining empty. What rent do you arks for the whole 'ouse with the exception of the basement?' I opened my mouth wide, I don't mind telling you that, Mr. Wigg, when I put a price upon the 'ouse. All he ses is, 'Agreed.' 'Then there's attendance, sir,' I ses. 'How much for that?' he arks. I opens my mouth wide agin, and all he ses is, 'Agreed.' You see, Mr. Wigg, seeing as' ow you're a friend of Mr. Nightingale's, and as no friend of his'n can be anything but a gentleman, there's no 'arm in my telling you a thing or two about Mr. Felix, more especially as you're on night duty 'ere."
"Here's to our better acquaintance," said Constable Wigg, laying hands on the beer-jug in an absent kind of way, and raising it to his mouth. When, after a long interval, he put it down again with a sigh of intense satisfaction, he met the reproachful gaze of Constable Nightingale, who gasped:
"Well, of all the cheek! Without ever being asked!"
"Love your heart," said Mrs. Middlemore, "what does that matter? He's as welcome as the flowers in May, being a friend of your'n." She handed the jug to Constable Nightingale, asking, as she did so, "Did you ever 'ave a inspiration, Mr. Nightingale?"
Constable Nightingale did not immediately reply, his face being buried in the jug. When it was free, and he had wiped his mouth, he said, in a mild tone-any harsh judgment he may have harbored against Constable Wigg being softened by the refreshing draught-
"I must have had one to-night when I come this way, out of my beat, to have a talk with Wigg, and to see that you was all right. The taters in the oven'll be burnt to a cinder if they're not took out immediate."
"You've got a nose for baked taters, you 'ave," said Mrs. Middlemore, admiringly. "Trust you for finding out things without eyes! But you always can smell what I've got in the oven."
Constable Wigg rubbed his hands joyously when he saw Mrs. Middlemore lay three plates and draw three chairs up to the table. Then she whipped the baked potatoes out of the oven, saying,
"Done to a turn. Now we can talk and 'ave supper at the same time. Make yourself at 'ome, Mr. Wigg, and 'elp yourself to what you like. I'll 'ave a bit of fowl, Mr. Nightingale, and jest a thin slice of the cold pork, if you please Mr. Wigg. It's a favorite dish of yours, I can see. Mr. Nightingale, you won't make compliments, I'm sure. You're the last man as ought to in this 'ouse." Constable Nightingale pressed her foot under the table, and she smiled at him, and continued, "I was going to tell you about my inspiration when I got the supper beer. A pint and a half won't be enough,' ses I to myself; a pint and a half's my regular allowance, Mr. Wigg, and I don't find it too much, because I don't drink sperrits. 'A pint and a half won't be enough,' ses I to myself; 'I shouldn't be surprised if a friend dropped in, so I'll double it.' And I did."
"That's something like an inspiration," said Constable Nightingale, looking amorously at Mrs. Middlemore, who smiled amorously at him in return.
Constable Wigg cut these amorous inclinings short by remarking, "We was talking of Mr. Felix. Nightingale commenced twice to-night telling a story about him, and it's not told yet."
"Not my fault, Wigg," Constable Nightingale managed to say, with his mouth full.
"I'll tell my story first," said Mrs. Middlemore, "and he can tell his afterward. Try them sausages, Mr. Wigg. Mr. Felix always 'as the best of everythink. I buy 'em at Wall's. So when he ses 'Agreed' to the rent and attendance, he ses, 'And about servants?' 'I can't afford to keep more than one, sir,' I ses. 'You can, ses he; 'you can afford to keep none. You'll find me the best tenant you ever 'ad, and what you've got to do is to foller my instructions. 'I'll do my best, sir,' ses I. 'It'll pay you,' ses he, 'to let me do exactly as I please, and never to cross me.' And I'm bound to say, Mr. Wigg, that it 'as paid me never to cross 'im and never to arks questions. 'We shall git along capitally together,' ses he, 'without servants. They're a prying, idle lot, and I won't 'ave 'em creeping up the stairs on welwet toes to find out what I'm doing. So keep none, Mrs. Middlemore,' he ses, 'not the ghost of one. You can wait on me without assistance. If I want to entertain a visitor or two I'll 'ave the meals brought in ready cooked, and if we want hextra attendance I'll git Gunter to send in a man as knows 'is business and can 'old 'is tongue.' Of course I was agreeable to that, and he pays me down a month in advance, like the gentleman he is. Though I don't drink sperrits, Mr. Nightingale, that's no reason why you should deny yourself. You know where the bottle is, and per'aps Mr. Wigg will jine you."
"Mrs. Middlemore," said Constable Wigg, "you're a lady after my own heart, and I'm glad I'm alive. Here's looking toward you."
"Thank you, Mr. Wigg," said Mrs. Middlemore, "and what I say is it's a shame that men like you and Mr. Nightingale should be trapesing the streets with the snow coming down and the wind a-blowing as it is now. Jest listen to it; it's going on worse than ever. Might I take the liberty of inquiring-you being on the beat, Mr. Wigg-whether you sor a lady come out of the house while I was gone for the supper beer?"
"No lady came out of the house," replied Constable Wigg. "A man did."
"A man!" cried Mrs. Middlemore. "Not Mr. Felix, surely!"
"No, not him," said Constable Nightingale. "A strange-looking man with a red handkercher round his neck."
"A strange-looking man, with a red 'andkercher round 'is neck?" exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore. "'Ow did he git in?"
"That's not for us to say," said Constable Nightingale. "Perhaps Mr. Felix let him in when you was away."
"Yes, most likely," said Mrs. Middlemore, with an air of confusion which she strove vainly to conceal from the observation of her visitors; "of course, that must be. Mr. Felix often lets people in 'isself. 'Mrs. Middlemore,' he ses sometimes, 'if there's a ring or a knock at the door, I'll attend to it. You needn't trouble yourself.' And I don't-knowing 'im, and knowing it'll pay me better to foller 'is instructions. For there's never a time that sech a thing 'appens that Mr. Felix doesn't say to me afterward, 'Here's a half-sovering for you, Mrs. Middlemore.'"
"You're in for one to-morrow morning, then," observed Constable Wigg, "because it was a man we saw and not a woman."
"He won't forgit it," said Mrs. Middlemore, "not 'im. He's too free and generous with 'is money, so long as he's let alone, and not pry'd upon. What he does is no business of mine, and I'm not going to make it mine."
"Ah," Mrs. Middlemore, said Constable Wigg, emptying his second glass of whiskey, "you know which side your bread is buttered."
"I wasn't born yesterday," said Mrs. Middlemore, with a shrewd smile, "and I've seed things that I keep to myself. Why not? You'd do the same if you was in my shoes, wouldn't you?"
"That we would," replied both the policeman in one breath; and Constable Wigg added, "You're a lucky woman to have such a lodger."
"Well," said Mrs. Middlemore, "I don't deny it. I never met with such a man as Mr. Felix, and I don't believe there is another. Why, when he took possession, he ses, 'Clear out every bit of furniture there is in the rooms. Send it to auction if you like and sell it, and pocket the money. When I leave you shall either 'ave all my furniture, or I'll furnish the rooms over agin according to your fancy, and it shan't cost you a penny.' I was agreeable. Because why? Because he give me forty pound on account, to show that he was in earnest. Then he begins to furnish, and if you was to see 'is rooms, Mr. Wigg, you'd be that took aback that you wouldn't know what to say. All sorts of wonderful woods, satings, picters, swords and daggers, strange rugs and carpets, painted plates and dishes, 'angings, old lamps, and goodness only knows what I don't understand 'arf of 'em. There! I've talked enough