"But why not? The last of my wishes would be to vex you, and when you're curious you like to know, don't you, my--I beg you a thousand pardons--don't you, ma'am?"
"Mr. Wigg," observed Mrs. Middlemore, "I'm a woman, and I do like to know. Oh!" she cried, with a little shriek, "was that somebody moving upstairs?"
"No, my dear, no. Keep close to me; I will protect you and proud of the chance, as who wouldn't be? When Nightingale threw out that hint, he meant, if I'm not mistook, that a lady should have only one admirer, hisself."
"He's not a bad sort of fellow, is Nightingale--it ain't for me to say anything against him--but when he wants a monopoly of something very precious"--and Constable Wigg looked languishingly at Mrs. Middlemore--"when he wants that, and as good as says it belongs to him and no one else, he touches a tender point. There's no harm in my admiring you, my dear; who could help it, that's what I'd like to know? Thank you--I _will_ take another lump of sugar. Yes, who could help it? Charms like yours--if you'll forgive me for mentioning 'em--ain't to be met with every day, and a man with a heart would have to be blind not to be struck. There! I wouldn't have spoke so free if it hadn't been for Nightingale and for your asking me what he meant. But a man can't always restrain his feelings, and I hope I haven't hurt yours, my dear."
"Not a bit, Mr. Wigg," said Mrs. Middlemore, and the tone would have been amorous had it not been for the mysterious trouble in her house; "you've spoke beautiful, and Mr. Nightingale ought to be ashamed of 'isself."
"Don't tell him I said anything, my dear."
He took it and squeezed it, and said, "What's passed we'll keep to ourselves."
"Here's to our better acquaintance, my dear."
"I'm sure you're kindness itself. Oh, Mr. Wigg, I 'ope nothing 'as 'appened to Mr. Felix."
"I hope so, too. My opinion is that he's out, and that the brass plate over the keyhole has got there by accident. But Nightingale always makes the worst of things. That's not my way. Wait till the worst comes, I say; it's time enough. You may worrit yourself to death, and be no better off for it after all."
In this strain they continued their conversation, Mrs. Middlemore declaring that it was quite a comfort to have Constable Wigg with her. She confided to him that she had a bit of money saved, and that Mr. Felix had said more than once that he would remember her in his will, which elicited from Constable Wigg the remark that he hoped Mr. Felix had made his will and had behaved as he ought to; "though, mind you," he added, "I don't believe anything's the matter with him, or that he's at home. It's all through that spectre cat, and as for bloodstains, they've got to be proved." A knocking and rattling at the street-door caused Mrs. Middlemore to cling very closely to him, and when she recovered her fright, they both went upstairs to let Constable Nightingale in.