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The detective, meanwhile, had come up with her some time before she entered the hotel, into which he followed her. Asking the landlady to detain her for an hour or so, without giving any reason beyond showing his authority (which made the landlady applaud herself a good deal for having locked her in), he went back to the police-station to report his proceedings. He could have taken her directly; but his object was, if possible, to trace out the man who was supposed to have committed the robbery. Then he heard of the discovery of the brooch, and consequently did not care to return.

Norah slept till even the summer evening began to close in, their started up. Some one was at the door. It would be Mr. Frank; and she dizzily pushed back her ruffled gray hair, which had fallen over her eyes, and stood looking to see him. Instead, there came in Mr. Openshaw and a policeman.

“This is Norah Kennedy,” said Mr. Openshaw.

“Oh, sir,” said Norah, “I did not touch the brooch–indeed I did not. Oh, sir, I can not live to be thought so badly of;” and, very sick and faint, she suddenly sank down on the ground. To her surprise, Mr. Openshaw raised her up very tenderly. Even the policeman helped to lay her on the sofa; and, at Mr. Openshaw’s desire, he went for some wine and sandwiches, for the poor gaunt woman lay there almost as if dead with weariness and exhaustion.

“Norah,” said Mr. Openshaw, in his kindest voice, “the brooch is found. It was hanging to Mrs. Chadwick’s gown. I beg your pardon–most truly I beg your pardon for having troubled you about it. My wife is almost broken-hearted. Eat, Norah–or, stay, first drink this glass of wine,” said he, lifting her head, and pouring a little down her throat.

As she drank she remembered where she was and who she was waiting for. She suddenly pushed Mr. Openshaw away,
saying, “Oh, sir, you must go–you must not stop a minute. If he comes back he will kill you.”

“Alas! Norah, I do not know who ‘he’ is. But some one is gone away who will never come back; some one who knew you, and whom I am afraid you cared for.”

“I don’t understand you, sir,” said Norah, her master’s kind and sorrowful manner bewildering her yet more than his words. The policeman had left the room at Mr. Openshaw’s desire, and they two were alone.

“You know what I mean when I say some one is gone who will never come back. I mean that he is dead!”

“Who!” said Norah, trembling all over.

“A poor man has been found in the Thames this morning–drowned.”

“Did he drown himself?” asked Norah, solemnly.

“God only knows,” replied Mr. Openshaw, in the same tone.”Your name and address at our house were found in his pocket; that, and his purse, were the only things that were found upon him. I am sorry to say it, my poor Norah, but you are required to go and identify him.”

“To what?” asked Norah.

“To say who it is. It is always done, in order that some reason may be discovered for the suicide–if suicide it was. I make no doubt he was the man who came to see you at our house last night. It is very sad, I know.” He made pauses between each little clause, in order to try and bring back her senses, which he feared were wandering, so wild and sad was her look.

“Master Openshaw,” said she, at last, “I’ve a dreadful secret to tell you–only you must never breathe it to any one, and you and I must hide it away forever. I thought to have done it all by myself, but I see I can not. Yon poor man–yes, the dead, drowned creature, is, I fear, Mr. Frank, my mistress’s first husband!”