CHAPTER XXI. A RECOGNITION Something occurred in the night to flutter the tired dove, and the dove arose refreshed. With Mr. Grugius, when the clock struck ten in the morning, came Mr. Chris Sparkle, who had come at one plunge out of the river at Cloisterham. Mr. Twinkleton was so uneasy, Miss Rosa, he explained to her, and came round to Mar and me with your note, in such a state of wonder, that, to quiet her, I volunteered on this service by the very first train to be caught in the morning. I wished at the time that you had come to me, but now I think it best that you did as you did, and came to your guardian. I did think of you, Rosa told him, but my cannon-corner was so near him. I understand it is quite natural. I have told Mr. Chris Sparkle, said Mr. Grugius, all that you told me last night, my dear. Of course, I should have written it to him immediately, but his coming was most opportune. And it was particularly kind of him to come, for he had but just gone. Have you settled, asked Rosa, appealing to them both, what is to be done for Helena and her brother? Why, really, said Mr. Chris Sparkle, I am in great perplexity, if even Mr. Grugius, whose head is much longer than mine, and who is a whole night's cogitation in advance of me, is undecided, what must I be? The unlimited here put her head in at the door, after having rapped, and been authorised to present herself, announcing that a gentleman wished for a word with another gentleman named Chris Sparkle, if any such gentleman were there. If no such gentleman were there, he begged pardon for being mistaken. Such a gentleman is here, said Mr. Chris Sparkle, but is engaged just now. Is it a dark gentleman, interposed Rosa, retreating on her guardian? No, miss, more of a brown gentleman. Are you sure not with black hair, asked Rosa, taking courage? Quite sure of that, miss, brown hair and blue eyes. Perhaps, hinted Mr. Grugius with habitual caution, it might be well to see him, reverence sir, if you don't object. When one is in a difficulty or a loss, one never knows in what direction a way out may chance to open. It is a business principle of mine, in such a case, not to close up any direction, but to keep an eye on every direction that may present itself. I could relate an anecdote in point, but that it would be premature. If miss Rosa will allow me, then, let the gentleman come in, said Mr. Chris Sparkle. The gentleman came in, apologised with a frank but modest grace for not finding Mr. Chris Sparkle alone, turned to Mr. Chris Sparkle and smilingly asked the unexpected question. Who am I? You are the gentleman I saw smoking under the trees in staple in a few minutes ago. Who I saw you there? Who else am I? Mr. Chris Sparkle concentrated his attention on a handsome face, much sunburnt, and the ghost of some departed boy seemed to rise gradually and dimly in the room. The gentleman saw a struggling recollection lighten up the minor cannon's features and smiling again, said, What will you have for breakfast this morning? You are out of jam. Wait a moment, cried Mr. Chris Sparkle, raising his right hand. Give me another instant. Tata! The two shook hands with the greatest tartiness and then went to the wonderful length for Englishmen of laying their hands each on the other's shoulders and looking joyfully each into the other's face. My old fag, said Mr. Chris Sparkle. My old master, said Mr. Tata. You saved me from drowning, said Mr. Chris Sparkle. After which you took to swimming, you know, said Mr. Tata. God bless my soul, said Mr. Chris Sparkle. Amen, said Mr. Tata, and then they fell to shaking hands most heartily again. Imagine, exclaimed Mr. Chris Sparkle with glistening eyes. Miss Rosa Budder, Mr. Grugius, imagine Mr. Tata when he was the smallest of juniors diving for me, catching me a big, heavy senior by the hair of the head and striking out for the shore with me like a water giant. Imagine, my not letting him sink, as I was his fag, said Mr. Tata, but the truth being that he was my best protector and friend and did me more good than all the masters put together an irrational impulse seized me to pick him up or go down with him. Ah, permit me, sir, to have the honour, said Mr. Grugius, advancing with extended hand. For an honour I truly esteem it. I am proud to make your acquaintance. I hope you didn't take cold. I hope you were not inconvenienced by swallowing too much water. How have you been since? It was by no means apparent that Mr. Grugius knew what he said, though it was very apparent that he meant to say something highly friendly and appreciative. If heaven, Rosa thought, had but sent such courage and skill to her poor mother's aid, and he to have been so slight and young then. I don't wish to be complimented upon it, I thank you, but I think I have an idea, Mr. Grugius announced, after taking a jog-trot or two across the room, so unexpected and unaccountable, that they all stared at him, doubtful whether he was choking or had the cramp. I think I have an idea. I believe I have had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Tata's name, as tenant of the top-set in the house, next to the top-set in the corner. Yes, sir, returned Mr. Tata, you are right so far. I am right so far, said Mr. Grugius, tick that off, which he did, with his right thumb on his left. Might you happen to know the name of your neighbour in the top-set on the other side of the party wall? Coming very close to Mr. Tata to lose nothing of his face in his shortness of sight. Landless, tick that off, said Mr. Grugius, taking another trot, and then coming back. No personal knowledge, I suppose, sir. Slight but some, tick that off, said Mr. Grugius, taking another trot, and again coming back. Nature of knowledge, Mr. Tata. I thought he seemed to be a young fellow in a poor way, and I asked his leave, only within a day or so, to share my flowers up there with him, that is to say, to extend my flower-garden to his windows. Would you have the kindness to take seats? said Mr. Grugius. I have an idea. They complied. Mr. Tata nonetheless readily for being all abroad, and Mr. Grugius seated in the corner with his hands upon his knees, thus stated his idea, with his usual manner of having got the statement by heart. I cannot as yet make up my mind whether it is prudent to hold open communication under present circumstances, and on the part of the fair member of the present company, with Mr. Neville or Ms. Helena. I have reason to know that a local friend of ours, on whom I beg to bestow a passing, but a hearty malediction, with the kind permission of my reverent friend, sneaks to and fro and dodges up and down. When not doing so himself, he may have some informant skulking about, in the person of a watchman, porter or such like Hangaron of Stable. On the other hand, Ms. Rosa very naturally wishes to see her friend, Ms. Helena, and it would seem important that at least Ms. Helena, if not her brother too, through her, should privately know from Ms. Rosa's lips what has occurred and what has been threatened. Am I agreed with generally in the views I take? I entirely coincide with them, said Mr. Chris Sparkle, who had been very attentive. As I have no doubt I should, added Mr. Tartar smiling, if I understood them. Fair and softly, sir, said Mr. Grugius, we shall fully confide in you directly, if you will favour us with your permission. Now, if our local friend should have any informant on the spot, it is tolerably clear that such informant can only be set to watch the chambers in the occupation of Mr. Neville. He, reporting to our local friend who comes and goes there, our local friend would supply for himself, from his own previous knowledge, the identity of the parties. Nobody can be set to watch all staple, or to concern himself with comers and goers to other sets of chambers, unless indeed mine. I begin to understand what you tend, said Mr. Chris Sparkle, and highly approve of your caution. I needn't repeat that I know nothing yet of the why and wherefore, said Mr. Tartar, but I also understand to what you tend, so let me say at once that my chambers are freely at your disposal. There, cried Mr. Grugius, smoothing his head triumphantly, now we have all got the idea. You have it, my dear. I think I have, said Rosa, blushing a little as Mr. Tartar looked quickly towards her. You see, you go over to staple with Mr. Chris Sparkle and Mr. Tartar, said Mr. Grugius. I going in and out and out and in alone, in my usual way.  I am very much afraid, I shall be— Be what, my dear? asked Mr. Grugius as she hesitated. Not frightened. No, not that, said Rosa, shyly. In Mr. Tartar's way, we seem to be appropriating Mr. Tartar's residence so very coolly. I protest to you, return that gentleman, that I shall think the better of it forever more if your voice sounds in it only once. Rosa, not quite knowing what to say about that, cast down her eyes, and turn in to Mr. Grugius, dutifully asked if she could put her hat on. Mr. Grugius being of opinion that she could do no better, she withdrew for the purpose. Mr. Chris Sparkle took the opportunity of giving Mr. Tartar a summary of the distresses of Neville and his sister. The opportunity was quite long enough, as the hat happened to require a little extra fitting on. Mr. Tartar gave his arm to Rosa, and Mr. Chris Sparkle walked detached in front. Poor, poor Eddie, thought Rosa as they went along. Mr. Tartar waved his right hand as he bent his head down over Rosa, talking in an animated way. It was not so powerful or so sun-browned when it saved Mr. Chris Sparkle, thought Rosa glancing at it, but it must have been very steady and determined even then. Mr. Tartar told her that he had been a sailor, roving everywhere for years and years. When are you going to see again? asked Rosa. Never! Rosa wondered what the girls would say if they could see her crossing the wide street on the sailor's arm. And she fancied that the passers-by must think her very little and very helpless, contrasted with the strong figure that could have caught her up and carried her out of any danger miles and miles without resting. She was thinking further that his far-seeing blue eyes looked as if they had been used to watch dangers afar off, and to watch it without flinching, drawing nearer and nearer, when, happening to raise her own eyes, she found that he seemed to be thinking something about them. This a little confused, Rosebud, and may account for her never afterwards quite knowing how she ascended with his help to his garden in the air, and seemed to get into a marvellous country that came into sudden bloom like the country on the summit of the magic beanstalk. May it flourish, forever. End of Chapter 21. Read by Alan Chant of Tumbridge in Kent, England during the summer of 2008. Two chapters remain in this unfinished novel by Charles Dickens. Chapter 22 of The Mystery of Edwin Drude This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Alan Chant. The Mystery of Edwin Drude. The Unfinished Novel by Charles Dickens. Chapter 22. A Gritty State of Things Comes On Mr. Tata's chambers were the neatest, the cleanest, and the best-ordered chambers ever seen under the sun, moon, and stars. The floors were scrubbed to that extent that you might have supposed the London blacks emancipated forever and gone out of the land for good. Every inch of brasswork in Mr. Tata's possession was polished and burnished till it shone like a brazen mirror. No speck, no spot, no splatter spoiled the purity of any of Mr. Tata's household gods, large, small, or middle-sized. His sitting-room was like the Admiral's cabin, his bathroom was like a dairy, his sleeping-chamber fitted all about with locks and drawers, was like a seedsman's shop, and his nicely balanced cot just stirred in the midst, as if it breathed. Everything belonging to Mr. Tata had quarters of its own assigned to it. His maps and charts had their quarters, his books had theirs, his brushes had theirs, his boots had theirs, his clothes had theirs, his case-bottles had theirs, his telescopes and other instruments had theirs. Everything was readily accessible. Shelf, bracket, locker, hook, and drawer were equally within reach and were equally contrived with a view to avoiding waste of room and providing some snug inches of stowage for something that would have exactly fitted nowhere else. His gleaming little service of plate was so arranged upon his sideboard, as that a slack salt-spoon would have instantly betrayed itself. His toilet implements were so arranged upon his dressing-table, as that a toothpick of slovenly deportment could have been reported at a glance. So with the curiosities he had brought home from various voyages, stuffed, dried, repolished, or otherwise preserved, according to their kind, birds, fishes, reptiles, arms, articles of dress, shells, sea-weeds, grasses, or memorials of coral reef, each was displayed in its special place, and each could have been displayed in no better place. Paint and varnish seemed to be kept somewhere out of sight, in constant readiness to obliterate stray finger-marks wherever any might become perceptible in Mr. Tata's chambers. No man of war was ever kept more spick and span from careless touch. On this bright summer day, a neat awning was rigged over Mr. Tata's flower garden, as only a sailor can rig it, and there was a sea-going air upon the whole effect, so delightfully complete, that the flower garden might have appertained to stern windows afloat, and the whole concern might have bowled away gallantly, with all on board, if Mr. Tata had only clapped to his lips the speaking trumpet that was slung in a corner, and given horse orders to heave the anchor up, look alive there, men, and get all sail upon her. Mr. Tata, doing the honours of this gallant craft, was of a peace with the rest. When a man rides an amiable hobby that shies at nothing and kicks nobody, it is only agreeable to find him riding it with a humorous sense of the droll side of the creature. When the man is a cordial and an earnest man by nature, and with all his perfectly fresh and genuine, it may be doubted whether he is ever seen to greater advantage than at such a time. So Rosa would have naturally thought, even if she hadn't been conducted over the ship, with all the homage due to the First Lady of the Admiralty, or First Fairy of the Sea, that it was charming to see and hear Mr. Tata half laughing at and half rejoicing in his various contrivances. So Rosa would have naturally thought anyhow that the sun-burnt sailor showed to great advantage when, the inspection finished, he delicately withdrew out of his admiral's cabin, beseeching her to consider herself its queen, and waving her free of his flower-garden with the hand that had had Mr. Chris Sparkle's life in it. Helena, Helena landless, are you there? Who speaks to me? Not Rosa. Then a second-handsome face appearing. Yes, my darling. Why, how did you come here, dearest? I—I don't quite know, said Rosa with a blush, and lest I am dreaming. Why with a blush? For their two faces were alone with the other flowers. Are blushes among the fruits of the country of the magic beanstalk? I am not dreaming, said Helena, smiling. I shall take more for granted if I were. How do we come together, or so near together, so very unexpectedly? Unexpectedly indeed, among the dingy gables and chimney-pots of P. J. T.'s connection, and the flowers that had sprung from the Salt Sea. But Rosa, waking, told in a hurry how they had come to be together, and all the why and wherefore of that matter. And Mr. Chris Sparkle is here, said Rosa in rapid conclusion, and could you believe it? Long ago he saved his life. I could believe any such thing of Mr. Chris Sparkle, returned Helena, with a mantling face, more blushes in the beanstalk country. Yes, but it wasn't Chris Sparkle, said Rosa, quickly putting in the correction. I don't understand, love. It was very nice of Mr. Chris Sparkle to be saved, said Rosa, and he couldn't have shown his high opinion of Mr. Tata more expressively, but it was Mr. Tata who saved him. Helena's dark eyes looked very earnestly at the bright face among the leaves, and she asked in a slower and more thoughtful tone. Is Mr. Tata with you now, dear? No, because he has given up his rooms to me. To us, I mean. It is such a beautiful place. Is it? It is like the inside of the most exquisite ship that ever sailed. It is like—it is like— Like a dream? suggested Helena. Rosa answered with a little nod and smelled the flowers. Helena resumed after a short pause of silence during which she seemed, or it was Rosa's fancy, too compassionate somebody. My poor Neville is reading in his own room, the sun being so very bright on this side just now. I think he had better not know that you are so near. Oh! I think so, too! cried Rosa very readily. I suppose, pursued Helena doubtfully, that he must know by and by all you have told me, but I am not sure. Ask Mr. Chris Barkle's advice, my darling. Ask him whether I made Tell Neville as much or as little of what you have told me as I think best. Rosa subsided into her state cabin and propounded the question. The minor cannon was for the free exercise of Helena's judgment. I thank him very much, said Helena when Rosa emerged again with her report. Ask him whether it would be best to wait until any more maligning and pursuing of Neville on the part of this wretch shall disclose itself, or to try to anticipate it. I mean, so far as to find out whether any such goes on darkly about us. The minor cannon found this point so difficult to give a confident opinion on that, after two or three attempts and failures, he suggested a reference to Mr. Grugius. Helena acquiescing, he bestook himself with a most unsuccessful assumption of lounging indifference across the quadrangle to PJT's, and stated it. Mr. Grugius held decidedly to the general principle that if you could steal a march upon a brigand or a wild beast, you had better do it. And he also held decidedly to the special case that John Jasper was a brigand and a wild beast in combination. Thus advised Mr. Crisparco came back again and reported to Rosa, who in her turn reported to Helena. She now steadily pursuing her train of thought at her window considered thereupon. We may count upon Mr. Tata's readiness to help us, Rosa, she inquired. Oh, yes! Rosa shyly thought so. Oh, yes! Rosa shyly believed she could almost answer for it. But should she ask Mr. Crisparco? I think your authority on the point, as good as his, my dear, said Helena seductively, and you needn't disappear again for that. Odd of Helena. You see, Neville, Helena pursued after more reflection, knows no one else here. He has not so much as exchanged a word with anyone else here. If Mr. Tata would call to see him openly and often, if he would spare a minute for the purpose frequently, if he would even do so almost daily, something might come of it. Something might come of it, dear, repeated Rosa, surveying her friend's beauty with a highly perplexed face. Something might, if Neville's movements are really watched, and if the purpose really is to isolate him from all friends and acquaintance, and where his daily life outgrain by grain, which would seem to be the threat to you, does it not appear likely, said Helena, that his enemy would, in some way, communicate with Mr. Tata to warn him off from Neville? In which case we might not only know the fact, but might know from Mr. Tata what the terms of the communication were. I see, cried Rosa, and immediately darted into her state cabin again. Presently her pretty face reappeared, with a greatly heightened colour, and she said that she had told Mr. Crisparkel, and that Mr. Crisparkel had fetched in Mr. Tata, who is waiting now in case you want him, added Rosa with a half-look back, and in not a little confusion between the inside of the state cabin and out, had declared his readiness to act as she had suggested, and to enter on his task that very day. I thank him from my heart, said Helena, pray tell him so. Again not a little confused between the flower garden and the cabin, Rosa dipped in with her message, and dipped out again with more assurances from Mr. Tata, and stood wavering in a divided state between Helena and him, which proved that confusion is not always necessarily awkward, but may sometimes present a very pleasant appearance. And now, darling, said Helena, we will be mindful of the caution that has restricted us to this interview for the present, and will part. I hear Neville moving too. Are you going back? To Miss Twenkelton's? asked Rosa. Yes. Oh, I could never go there any more. I couldn't indeed, after that dreadful interview, said Rosa. Then where are you going, pretty one? Now I come to think of it. I don't know, said Rosa. I have settled nothing at all yet, but my guardian will take care of me. Don't be uneasy, dear. I shall be sure to be somewhere. It did seem likely. And I shall hear of my Rosebud from Mr. Tata, inquired Helena. Yes, I suppose so from—Rosa looked back again in a flutter, instead of supplying the name. But tell me one thing before we part, dearest Helena. Tell me that you are sure, sure, sure. I couldn't help it. Help it, love? Help! Making him malicious and revengeful. I couldn't hold any terms with him, could I? You know how I love you, darling, answered Helena. With indignation. But I would sooner see you dead at his wicked feet. That's a great comfort to me, and you will tell your poor brother so, won't you? And you will give him my remembrance and my sympathy, and you will ask him not to hate me? With a mournful shake of the head, as if that would be quite a superfluous entreaty, Helena lovingly kissed her two hands to her friend, and her friend's two hands were kissed to her, and then she saw a third hand, a brown one, appear among the flowers and leaves, and help her friend out of sight. The refection that Mr. Tartar produced in the Admiral's cabin, by merely touching the spring-knob of a locker and the handle of a drawer, was a dazzling, enchanted repast. Wonderful macaroons, glittering liqueurs, magically preserved tropical spices, and jellies of celestial tropical fruits, displayed themselves profusely at an instant's notice. But Mr. Tartar could not make time stand still, and time, with his hard-hearted fleetness, strode on so fast that Rosa was obliged to come down from the beanstalk country to earth and her guardian's chambers. And now, my dear, said Mr. Grugius, what is to be done next? To put the same thought in another form, what is to be done with you? Rosa could only look apologetically sensible of being very much, in her own way, and in everybody else's. Some passing idea of living, fire-proof, up a good many stares at Fernieville's inn for the rest of her life, was the only thing in the nature of a plan that occurred to her. It has come into my thoughts, said Mr. Grugius, that as the respected lady, Ms. Twinkleton, occasionally repairs to London in the recess, with the view of extending her connection, and being available for interviews with metropolitan parents, if any, whether, until we have time in which to turn ourselves round, we might invite Ms. Twinkleton to come and stay with you for a month. Stay where, sir? Whether, explained Mr. Grugius, we might take a furnished lodging in town for a month, and invite Ms. Twinkleton to assume the charge of you in it for that period. And afterwards, hinted Rosa, and afterwards, said Mr. Grugius, we should be no worse off than we are now. I think that might smooth the way, assented Rosa. Then let us, said Mr. Grugius, rising, go and look for a furnished lodging. Nothing could be more acceptable to me than the sweet presence of last evening, for all the remaining evenings of my existence. But these are not fit surroundings for a young lady. Let us set out in quest of adventures, and look for a furnished lodging. In the meantime, Mr. Chris Sparkle here, about to return home immediately, will no doubt kindly see Ms. Twinkleton, and invite that lady to co-operate in our plan. Mr. Chris Sparkle willingly accepting the commission took his departure. Mr. Grugius and his ward set forth on their expedition. As Mr. Grugius' idea of looking at a furnished lodging was to get on the opposite side of the street to a house with a suitable bill in the window, and stare at it, and then work his way tortuously to the back of the house, and stare at that, and then not go in. But make similar trials of another house with the same result. Their progress was but slow. At length he bethought himself of a widowed cousin, divers' times removed, of Mr. Bazards, who had once solicited his influence in the lodger world, and who lived in Southampton Street Bloomsbury Square. This lady's name, stated in uncompromising capitals of considerable size on a brass door plate, and yet not lucidly as to sex or condition, was Billikin. Personal faintness, and an overpowering personal candour, were the distinguishing features of Mrs. Billikin's organisation. She came languishing out of her own exclusive backpawler, with the air of having been expressly brought to for the purpose, from an accumulation of several swoons. I hope I seize you well, sir, said Mrs. Billikin, recognising her visitor with a bend. Thank you quite well, and you, ma'am, returned Mr. Grudius. I am as well, said Mrs. Billikin, becoming aspirational with excess of faintness as I ever am. My ward and an elderly lady, said Mr. Grudius, wish to find a gentile lodging for a month or so. Have you any apartments available, ma'am? Mr. Grudius, returned Mrs. Billikin, I will not deceive you far from it. I have apartments available. This, with the air of adding, convey me to the stake, if you will, but while I live, I will be candid. And now what apartments, ma'am, asked Mr. Grudius cosily, to tame a certain severity apparent on the part of Mrs. Billikin. There is this sitting room, which, call it what you will, it is the front parlor, miss, said Mrs. Billikin, impressing Rosa into the conversation, the back parlor being what I cling to and never part with. And there is two bedrooms at the top of the ass, with gas laid on. I do not tell you that your bedroom flaws his firm, for firm they are not. The gas-fitter himself allowed that to make a firm job he must go right under your gist. And it were not worth the outlay as a yearly tenant so to do. The piping is carried above your gist, and it is best that it should be made known to you. Mr. Grudius and Rosa exchanged looks of some dismay, though they had not the least idea what late and horrors this carriage of the piping might involve. Mrs. Billikin put her hand to her heart, as having eased it of a load. Well, the roof is all right, no doubt, said Mr. Grudius, plucking up a little. Mr. Grudius, return, Mrs. Billikin, if I was to tell you, sir, that to have nothing above you is to have a floor above you. I should put a deception upon you which I will not do, no, sir. Your slates will rattle loose at that elevation in windy weather. Do your utmost, best or worst. I defy you, sir, be you what you may, to keep your slates tight. Try how you can. Here, Mrs. Billikin, having been warm with Mr. Grudius, cooled a little, not to abuse the moral power she held over him.  And for you to say, Mrs. Billikin, what stain do I notice in the ceiling for a stain I do consider it? And for me to answer, I do not understand you, sir. No, sir. I will not be so underhand. I do understand you before you point it out. It is the wet, sir. It do come in, and it do not come in. You may lay dry there half your lifetime, but the time will come, and it is best that you should know it when a dripping sop would be no name for you. Mr. Grudius looked much disgraced by being prefigured in this pickle. Have you any other apartments, ma'am? he asked. Mr. Grudius returned Mrs. Billikin with much solemnity. I have. You ask me, have I, and my open and honest answer ere? I have. The first and second floors is vacant, and sweet rooms. Come, come, there's nothing against them, said Mr. Grudius, comforting himself. Mr. Grudius replied Mrs. Billikin, pardon me, there is the stairs. Unless your mind is prepared for the stairs, it will lead to inevitable disappointment. You cannot miss, said Mrs. Billikin, addressing Rosa reproachfully, place a first floor, and far less a second on the level footing of a parlour. No, you cannot do it, miss. It is beyond your power, and wherefore try? Mrs. Billikin put it very feelingly, as if Rosa had shown a headstrong determination to hold the untenable position. Can we see these rooms, ma'am? inquired her guardian. Mr. Grudius returned Mrs. Billikin. You can. I will not disguise it from you, sir. You can. Mrs. Billikin then sent into her back parlour for her shawl, it being a state fiction dating from immemorial antiquity that she could never go anywhere without being wrapped up, and having been enrolled by her attendant led the way. She made various gentile pauses on the stairs for breath, and clutched at her heart in the drawing-room, as if it had very nearly got loose, and she had caught it in the act of taking wing. And the second floor, said Mr. Grudius on finding the first satisfactory. Mr. Grudius replied Mrs. Billikin, turning upon him with ceremony, as if the time had now come when a distinct understanding on a difficult point must be arrived at, and a solemn confidence established. The second floor is over this. Can we see that too, ma'am? Yes, sir, returned Mrs. Billikin. It is open as the day. That also proving satisfactory, Mr. Grudius retired into a window with Rosa for a few words of consultation, and then asking for pen and ink, sketched out a line or two of agreement. In the meantime Mrs. Billikin took a seat, and delivered a kind of index to or abstract of the general question. Five and forty shillings per week by the month, certain at the time of year, said Mrs. Billikin, is only reasonable to both parties. It is not Bond Street nor yet St. James Palace, but it is not pretended that it is. Neither is it attempted to be denied, for why should it, that the arching leads to amuse. Muses must exist. Respecting attendance, too, is kept at liberal wages. Words has arisen as to tradesmen, but dirty shoes on fresh hearth stoning was attributable, and no wish for a commission on your orders. Coles is either by the fire or per the scuttle. She emphasised the prepositions as marking a subtle but immense difference. Dogs is not viewed with favour, besides litter they get stole, and sharing suspicions is apt to creep in, and unpleasantness takes place. By this time Mr. Grudius had his agreement lines and his earnest money ready. I have signed it for the ladies, ma'am, he said, and you'll have the goodness to sign it for yourself. Christian and surname there, if you please. Mr. Grudius said Mrs. Billikin in a new burst of candour. No, sir, you must excuse the Christian name. Mr. Grudius stared at her. The door plate is used as a protection, said Mrs. Billikin, and acts as such, and go from it I will not. Mr. Grudius stared at Rosa. No, Mr. Grudius, you must excuse me. So long as this ass is known in deafener as Billikins, and so long as it is a doubt with the riffraff where Billikin may be hiding near the street door or down the airy, and what his weight and size so long I feel safe, but commit myself to a solitary female statement. No, miss, nor would you for a moment wish, said Mrs. Billikin, with a strong sense of injury, to take that advantage of your sex if you were not brought to it by inconsiderate example. Rosa, reddening as if she had made some most disgraceful attempt to overreach the good lady, besought Mr. Grudius to act content with any signature, and accordingly, in a baronial way, the sign-manual Billikin got appended to the document. Details were then settled for taking possession on the next day but one, when Miss Twinkleton might be reasonably expected, and Rosa went back to Fernival's Inn on her guardian's arm. Behold, Mr. Tata walking up and down Fernival's Inn, checking himself when he saw them coming, and advancing towards them. It occurred to me, hinted Mr. Tata, that we might go up the river, the weather being so delicious and the tide serving, I have a boat of my own at the temple stairs. I have not been up the river for this many a day, said Mr. Grudius, tempted. I was never up the river, added Rosa. Within half an hour they were setting this matter right, by going up the river. The tide was running with them, the afternoon was charming. Mr. Tata's boat was perfect. Mr. Tata and Lobbly, of Mr. Tata's man, pulled a pair of oars. Mr. Tata had a yacht, it seemed, lying somewhere down by Greenhithe, and Mr. Tata's man had charge of this yacht, and was detached upon his present service. He was a jolly favoured man, with tawny hair and whiskers, and a big red face. He was the dead image of the sun in the old woodcuts, his hair and whiskers answering for rays all around him. Resplendent in the bow of the boat, he was a shining sight, with a man of war's man's shirt on or off, according to opinion, and his arms and breasts tattooed all sorts of patterns. Lobbly seemed to take it easily, and so did Mr. Tata. Yet their oars bent as they pulled, and the boat bounded under them. Mr. Tata talked, as if he were doing nothing, to Rosa, who was really doing nothing, and to Mr. Grugius, who was doing this much, that he steered all wrong. But what did that matter, when a turn of Mr. Tata's skillful wrist, or a mere grin of Mr. Lobbly's over the bow, put all to rights? The tide bore them on in the gazed and most sparkling manner, until they stopped to dine in some everlastingly green garden, needing no matter-of-fact identification here. And then the tide obligingly turned, being devoted to that party alone for that day. And as they floated idly among some osear beds, Rosa tried what she could do in the rowing-way, and came off splendidly, being much assisted. And Mr. Grugius tried what he could do, and came off on his back, doubled up with an oar under his chin, being not assisted at all. Then there was an interval of rest under boughs, such rest. What time, Mr. Lobbly mopped, and arranging cushions, stretchers, and the like, danced the tightrope the whole length of the boat, like a man to whom shoes were a superstition, and stockings slavery. And then came the sweet return among delicious odours of limes in bloom, and musical ripplings, and all too soon. The great black city cast its shadow on the waters, and its dark bridges spanned them as death spans life, and the everlastingly green garden seemed to be left for everlasting, unregainable, and far away. Can't people get through life without gritty stages, I wonder? Rosa thought next day when the town was very gritty again, and everything had a strange and an uncomfortable appearance of seeming to wait for something that wouldn't come. No. She began to think that, now the cloister and school days had glided past and gone, the gritty stages would begin to set in at intervals and make themselves wearily known. Yet what did Rosa expect? Did she expect Miss Twinkleton? Miss Twinkleton duly came. Fourth from her back parlour issued the billy-kin to receive Miss Twinkleton, and war was in the billy-kin's eye from that fell moment. Miss Twinkleton brought a quantity of luggage with her, having all Rosa's as well as her own. The billy-kin took it ill that Miss Twinkleton's mind, being sorely disturbed by this luggage, failed to take in her personal identity with that clearness of perception which was due to its demands. Stateliness mounted her gloomy throne upon the billy-kin's brow in consequence, and when Miss Twinkleton, in agitation taking stock of her trunks and packages, of which she had seventeen, particularly counted in the billy-kin herself as number eleven, the bee found it necessary to repudiate.  No, I am highly obliged to you, Miss Twinkleton, nor yet a beggar. This last acclaimer had a reference to Miss Twinkleton's distractedly pressing two-and-sixpence on her instead of the cab-man. Thus cast off Miss Twinkleton wildly inquired which gentleman was to be paid. There being two gentlemen in that position, Miss Twinkleton having arrived with two cabs, each gentleman on being paid held forth his two-and-sixpence on the flat of his open hand, and, with a speechless stare and a dropped jaw, displayed his wrong to heaven and earth. Terrified by this alarming spectacle, Miss Twinkleton placed another shilling in each hand, at the same time appealing to the law in flurried accents, and recounting her luggage this time with the two gentlemen in, who caused the total to come out complicated. Meanwhile, the two gentlemen each looking very hard at the last shilling grumblingly, as if it might become eighteen pence if he kept his eyes on it, descended the door-steps, ascended their carriages, and drove away, leaving Miss Twinkleton on a bonnet-box in tears. The billokin beheld this manifestation of weakness without sympathy, and gave directions for a young man to be got in to wrestle with the luggage. When that gladiator had disappeared from the arena, peace ensued, and the new lodgers dined. But the billokin had somehow come to the knowledge that Miss Twinkleton kept to school. The leap from that knowledge to the inference that Miss Twinkleton set herself to teach her something was easy. But you don't do it, Soliloquy's the billokin. I am not your pupil, whatever she, meaning Rosa, may be poor thing. Miss Twinkleton, on the other hand, having changed her dress and recovered her spirits, was animated by a bland desire to improve the occasion in all ways, and to be as serene a model as possible. In a happy compromise between her two states of existence, she had already become, with her work-basket before her, the equably vivacious companion, with a slight judicious flavouring of information when the billokin announced herself. I will not hide it from you, ladies, said the bee, enveloped in the shawl of state. For it is not my character to hide neither my motives nor my actions, that I take the liberty to look in upon you to express an oak that your dinner was to your liking. Though not professed, but plain, still her wages should be a sufficient object to her to stimulate to soar above mere roast and boiled. We dined very well indeed, said Rosa, thank you. Accustomed, said Miss Twinkleton, with a gracious air, which to the jealous ears of the billokin seemed to add my good woman, accustomed to a liberal and nutritious, yet plain and salutary diet, we have found no reason to bemoan our absence from the ancient city, and the methodical household in which the quiet routine of our lot has been hitherto cast. I did think it well to mention to my cook, observed the billokin with a gush of candour, which I hope you will agree with, Miss Twinkleton, was a right precaution that the young lady being used to what we should consider ear but poor diet, had better be brought forward by degrees. For a rush from scanty feeding to generous feeding, and from what you may call messing to what you may call method, do require a power of constitution which is not often found in youth, particularly when undermined by boarding school. It will be seen that the billokin now openly pitted herself against Miss Twinkleton, as one whom she had fully ascertained to be her natural enemy. Your remarks, returned Miss Twinkleton from a remote moral eminence, are well meant, I have no doubt, but you will permit me to observe that they develop a mistaken view of the subject, which can only be imputed to your extreme want of accurate information. My information, reported the billokin, throwing in an extra syllable for the sake of emphasis at once, polite and powerful, my information, Miss Twinkleton, were my own experience, which I believe is usually considered to be good guidance, but whether so or not I was put in youth to a very genteel boarding school, the mistress being no lesser lady than yourself, of about your own age, or it may be some years younger, and a porness of blood flowed from the table which has run through my life. Very likely, said Miss Twinkleton, still from her distant eminence, and very much to be deplored. Rosa, my dear, how are you getting on with your work? Miss Twinkleton, resumed the billokin in a courtly manner, before retiring on the int as a lady should. I wish to ask of yourself, as a lady, whether I am to consider that my words is doubted.  Began, Miss Twinkleton, when the billokin neatly stopped her, do not, if you please, put suppositions betwixt my lips, where none such have been imparted by myself. Your flow of words is great, Miss Twinkleton, and no doubt is expected from you by your pupils, and no doubt is considered worth the money. No doubt, I am sure. But not paying for flows of words, and not asking to be favoured with them here, I wish to repeat my question. If you refer to the poverty of your circulation, began Miss Twinkleton, when again the billokin neatly stopped her, I have used no such expressions. If you refer, then, to the poorness of your blood, brought upon me, stipulated the billokin expressly, at a boarding school. Then, resumed Miss Twinkleton, all I can say is, that I am bound to believe on your asseveration, that it is very poor indeed.  The Rosa, my dear, how are you getting on with your work? Ha! Before retiring, Miss, proclaimed the billokin to Rosa, loftily cancelling Miss Twinkleton, I shall wish it to be understood between yourself and me, that my transactions in future is with you alone. I know no elderly lady here, Miss, none older than yourself. A highly desirable arrangement, Rosa, my dear, observed Miss Twinkleton. It is not, Miss, said the billokin with the sarcastic smile, that I possess the mill I have heard of, in which old single ladies could be ground up young. What a gift it would be to some of us, but that I limit myself to you totally. For when I have any desire to communicate a request to the person of the house, Rosa, my dear, observed Miss Twinkleton, with majestic cheerfulness, I will make it known to you, and you will kindly undertake, I am sure, that it is conveyed to the proper quarter. Good evening, Miss, said the billokin, once affectionately and distantly. Being alone in my eyes, I wish you good evening with best wishes, and do not find myself drove, I am truly happy to say, into expressing my contempt for an individual, unfortunately for yourself belonging to you. The billokin gracefully withdrew with this parting speech, and from that time Rosa occupied the restless position of shuttlecock between these two battle-doors. Nothing could be done without a smart match being played out. Thus on the daily arising question of dinner, Miss Twinkleton would say, the three being present together, Perhaps, my love, you will consult with the person of the house, whether she can procure us a lamb's fry, or, failing that, a roast foul. On which the billokin would retort, Rosa not having spoken a word, if you was better acquainted to Butcher's meat, Miss, you would not entertain the idea of a lamb's fry, firstly, because lamb's has long been sheep, and secondly, because there is such things as killing days, and there is not. As to roast fouls, Miss, why, you must be quite surfited with roast fouls, letting alone your buying, when you mark it for yourself, the agitist of paltry, with the scaliest of legs, quite as if you were accustomed to picking him out for cheapness. Trial it, Niewenschen, Miss, use yourself to ask keeping a bit. Come now, think of something else. To this encouragement, offered with the indulgent tolerance of a wise and liberal expert, Miss Twinkleton would rejoin, reddening, or, my dear, you might propose to the person of the house a duck. Well, Miss, the billokin would exclaim, still no words being spoken by Rosa, you do surprise me when you speak of ducks, not to mention that they're getting out of season, and, very dear, it really strikes to my heart to see you have a duck, for the breast which is the only delicate cuts in a duck, always goes in a direction which I cannot imagine where, and your own plate comes down so miserably skin and bony. Try again, Miss, think more of yourself and less of others. A dish of sweetbreads now, or a bit of mutton, something at which you can get your equal chance. Occasionally the game would wax very brisk indeed, and would be kept up with a smartness rendering such an encounter as this quite tame, but the billokin almost invariably made by far the higher score, and would come in with side hits of the most unexpected and extraordinary description when she seemed without a chance. All this did not improve the gritty state of things in London, or the air that London had acquired in Rosa's eyes, of waiting for something that never came. Tired of working and conversing with Miss Twinkleton, she suggested working and reading, to which Miss Twinkleton readily assented, as an admirable reader of tried powers. But Rosa soon made the discovery that Miss Twinkleton didn't read fairly. She cut the love scenes, interpolated passages in praise of feminine celibacy, and was guilty of other glaring pious frauds. As an instance in point, take the glowing passage. Everdearest and best adored, said Edward, clasping the dear hand to his breast, and drawing the silken hair through his caressing fingers, from which he suffered it to fall like golden rain. Everdearest and best adored, let us fly from the unsympathetic world and the sterile coldness of the stony-hearted to the rich warm paradise of truth and love. Miss Twinkleton's fraudulent version tamely ran thus. Ever engaged to me with the consent of our parents on both sides, and the approbation of the silver-haired rector of the district, said Edward, respectfully raising to his lips the taper fingers so skillful in embroidery, tambour, crochet, and other truly feminine arts. Let me call on thy papa ere to morrow's dawn has sunk into the west, and propose a suburban establishment, lowly it may be, but within our means, where he will be always welcome as an evening guest, and where every arrangement shall invest economy, and constant interchange of scholastic requirements with the attributes of the ministering angel to domestic bliss. As the days crept on and nothing happened, the neighbours began to say that the pretty girl at Billikin's, who looked so wistfully and so much out of the gritty windows of the drawing-room, seemed to be losing her spirits. The pretty girl might have lost them but for the accident of lighting on some books of voyages and sea-adventure. As a compensation against their romance, Miss Twinkleton reading aloud made the most of all the latitudes and longitudes, bearings, winds, currents, offsets, and other statistics, which she felt to be nonetheless improving because they expressed nothing whatever to her, while Rosa, listening intently, made the most of what was nearest to her heart. So they both did better than before. End of Chapter 22 Read by Alan Chant in Tumbridge, in Kent, during the winter of 2008 The next chapter is the final chapter in this unfinished book by Charles Dickens. Chapter 23 of The Mystery of Edwin Drude This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Alan Chant. The Mystery of Edwin Drude The Unfinished Novel by Charles Dickens The Final Published Chapter Chapter 23 The Dawn Again Although Mr. Crisparkel and John Jasper met daily under the cathedral roof, nothing at any time passed between them having reference to Edwin Drude. After the time, more than a year gone by when Jasper mutely showed the minor canon the conclusion and the resolution entered in his diary. It is not likely that they ever met, though so often, without the thoughts of each reverting to the subject. It is not likely that they ever met, though so often, without a sensation on the part of each that the other was a perplexing secret to him. Jasper has the denouncer and pursuer of Neville Landless, and Mr. Crisparkel, as his consistent advocate and protector, must at least have stood sufficiently in opposition to have speculated with keen interest on the steadiness and next direction of the other's designs. But neither ever broached the theme. False pretence not being in the minor canon's nature he doubtless displayed openly that he would at any time have revived the subject, and even desired to discuss it. The determined reticence of Jasper, however, was not to be so approached. Impassive, moody, solitary, resolute, so concentrated on one idea, and on its attendant fixed purpose that he would share it with no fellow creature, he lived apart from human life. Constantly exercising an art which brought him into mechanical harmony with others, and which could not have been pursued unless he and they had been in the nicest mechanical relations and unison, it is curious to consider that the spirit of the man was in moral accordance or interchange with nothing around him. This indeed he had confided to his lost nephew before the occasion for his present inflexibility arose. That he must know of Rose's abrupt departure, and that he must divine its cause was not to be doubted, did he suppose that he had terrified her into silence, or did he suppose that she had imparted to anyone to Mr. Crisparkel himself, for instance, the particulars of his last interview with her. Mr. Crisparkel could not determine this in his mind. He could not but admit, however, as a just man, that it was not of itself a crime to fall in love with Rosa any more than it was a crime to offer to set love above revenge. The dreadful suspicion of Jasper, which Rosa was so shocked to have received into her imagination, appeared to have no harbour in Mr. Crisparkel's. If he had ever haunted Helena's thoughts of Neville's, neither gave it one spoken word of utterance. Mr. Grugeous took no pains to conceal his implacable dislike of Jasper, yet he never referred it, however distantly, to such a source. But he was a reticent as well as an eccentric man, and he made no mention of a certain evening when he warmed his hands at the gatehouse fire and looked steadily down upon a certain heap of torn and miry clothes upon the floor. Drowsy Cloisteram, whenever it awoke to a passing reconsideration of a story above six months old, and dismissed by the bench of magistrates, was pretty equally divided in opinion whether John Jasper's beloved nephew had been killed by his treacherously passionate rival, or in an open struggle, or had, for his own purposes, spirited himself away. It then lifted up its head to notice that the bereaved Jasper was still ever devoted to discovery and revenge, and then dozed off again. This was the condition of matters all round at the period to which the present history has now attained. The cathedral doors have closed for the night, and the choir master on a short leave of absence for two or three services sets his face towards London. He travels thither by the means by which Rosa travelled, and arrives, as Rosa arrived, on a hot, dusty evening. His travelling baggage is easily carried in his hand, and he repairs with it on foot to a hybrid hotel in a little square behind Aldersgate Street, near the general post office. It is hotel, boarding house, or lodging house, at its visitors' option. It announces itself in the new railway advertisers as a novel enterprise timidly beginning to spring up. It bashfully, almost apologetically, gives the traveller to understand that it does not expect him on the good old constitutional hotel plan to order a pint of sweet blacking for his drinking, and throw it away, but insinuates that he may have his boots blacked instead of his stomach, and maybe also have bed, breakfast attendants, and a porter up all night for a certain fixed charge. From these and similar premises many true Britons in the lowest spirits deduce that the times are levelling times, except in the article of High Roads, of which there will shortly be not one in England. He eats without appetite, and soon goes forth again. Eastward and still eastward through the stale streets he takes his way, until he reaches his destination, a miserable court, specially miserable among many such. He ascends a broken staircase, opens a door, looks into a dark stifling room, and says, Are you alone here? Alone, dearie, worse luck for me and better for you, replies a croaking voice.  I can't see you till I light a match, yet I seem to know the sound of your speaking.  Light your match and try. So I will, dearie, so I will, but my hand that shakes as I can't lay it on a match all in a moment, and I cough so that put my matches where I may, I never find them there. They jump and start as I cough and cough like live things. Are you off on a voyage, dearie? No. Not, see, fairy? No. Well, there's land customers, and there's water customers. I'm a mother to both, different from Jack Chinam and other side of the court. He ain't a father to neither, it ain't in him, and he ain't got the true secret of mixing, though he charges as much as me that has. And more if he can get it. Here's a match, and now where's the candle? If my cough takes me, I shall cough out twenty matches before I catch a light. But she finds the candle and lights it before the cough comes on. It seizes her in the moment of success, and she sits down rocking herself to and fro and gasping at intervals. My lungs is awful bad. My lungs is wore away to cabbage nets, until the fit is over. During its continuance, she has had no power of sight or any other power not absorbed in the struggle. But as it leaves her, she begins to strain her eyes, and as soon as she is able to articulate, she cries, staring. Why? It's you. Are you so surprised to see me? I thought I never should have seen you again, dearie. I thought you was dead and gone to heaven. Why? I didn't suppose you could have kept away alive so long from the old soul with the real receipt for mixing it. And you are in mourning too. Why didn't you come and have a pipe on to your comfort? Did they leave you money, perhaps? And so you didn't want comfort? No. Who was they as I, dearie? A relative. Died of what, lovey? Probably death. We are short tonight. Cries the woman with her propitiatory laugh. Short and snappish we are, but we're out of sorts for want of a smoke. We've got the all-overs, haven't we, dearie? But this is the place to cure them in. This is the place where the all-overs is smoked off. You may make ready, then, replies the visitor, as soon as you like.  Now you begin to look like yourself, says the woman approvingly. Now I begin to know my old customer indeed. Been trying to mix for yourself this long time, Poppy? I have been taking it now and then in my own way. Never take it in your own way. It ain't good for trade, and it ain't good for you. Where's my ink-bottle, and where's my thimble, and where's my little spoon? He's going to take it in an artful form now, my dearie-deer. Entering on her process, and beginning to bubble and blow at the faint spark enclosed in the hollow of her hands, she speaks from time to time in a tone of snuffling satisfaction without leaving off. When he speaks, he does so without looking at her, as if his thoughts were already roaming away by anticipation. I've got a pretty many smokes ready for you, first and last. Haven't I, Chucky? Oh, good many. When you first came, you was quite new to it, weren't you? Yes, I was easily disposed of, then. But you got on in the world, and was able by and by to take your pipe with the best of them, weren't you? I am the worst. It's just ready for you.   It's ready for you now, dearie. He takes it from her with great care, and puts the mouthpiece to his lips. She seats herself beside him ready to refill the pipe. After inhaling a few whiffs in silence, he doubtingly accosts her with, Is it as potent as it used to be? What dare speak of, dearie? What should I speak of, but what I have in my mouth? It's just the same, always the identical same. Doesn't taste so, and it's slower. You've got more used to it, you see. This may be the cause, certainly. Look here. He stops, becomes dreamy, and seems to forget that he has invited her attention. She bends over him and speaks in his ear. I'm attending to you, says you just now. Look here. Says I now, I'm attending to you. We was talking just before of your being used to it. I know all that. I was only thinking. Look here. Suppose you had something in your mind, something you were going to do. Yes, dearie. Something I was going to do, but had not quite determined to do. Yes, dearie.  Yes. With the point of a needle she stirs the contents of the bowl. Could you do it in your fancy, when you were lying here doing this? She nods her head. Over and over again. Just like me. I did it over and over again. I have done it hundreds of thousands of times in this room. It's to be hoped it was pleasant to do, dearie. It was pleasant to do. Pleasant to do. He says this with a savage air and a spring or start at her. Quite unmoved she retouches and replenishes the contents of the bowl with her little spatula. Seeing her intent upon the occupation, he sinks into his former attitude. It was a journey. A difficult and dangerous journey. That was the subject in my mind. A hazardous and perilous journey over abysses where a slip would be destruction. Look down, look down. You see what lies at the bottom there. He has darted forward to say it and to point at the ground as though at some imaginary object far beneath. The woman looks at him as his spasmodic face approaches close to hers and not at his pointing. She seems to know what the influence of her perfect quietitude would be. If so, she has not miscalculated it, for he subsides again. Well, I have told you I did it here hundreds of thousands of times. What do I say? I did it millions and billions of times. I did it so often. And through such vast expanses of time that when it was really done it seemed not worth the doing it was done so soon. That's the journey you have been away upon. She quietly remarks. He glares at her as he smokes and then his eyes becoming filmy answers. That's the journey. Silence ensues. His eyes are sometimes closed and sometimes open. The woman sits beside him very attentive to the pipe, which is all the while at his lips. I'll warrant, she observes, when he has been looking fixedly at her for some consecutive moments, with a singular appearance in his eyes of seeming to see her a long way off, instead of so near him. I'll warrant, you made the journey in a many ways when you made it so often. No, always in one way, always in the same way. I, in the way in which it was really made at last. I, and always took the same pleasure in harping on it. I, for the time he appears unequal to any other reply than this lazy monosyllabic assent, probably to assure herself that it is not the assent of a mere automaton. She reverses the form of her next sentence. Did you never get tired of it, dearie, and try to call up something else for a change? He struggles into a sitting posture and retorts upon her. What do you mean? What did I want? What did I come for? She gently lays him back again, and before returning him the instrument he has dropped, revives the fire in it with her own breath, then says to him coaxingly, Sure, sure, sure, yes, yes. Yes, now, I go along with you. You was too quick for me. I see now, you come a purpose to take the journey, why I might have known it through it standing by you so. He answers, first with a laugh, and then with a passionate setting of his teeth. Yes, I came on purpose. When I could not bear my life, I came to get the relief, and I got it. It was one. It was one. This repetition with extraordinary vehemence, and the snarl of a wolf. She observes him very cautiously, as though mentally feeling her way to her next remark. It is, There was a fellow traveller, dearie. Ha, ha, ha, ha! He breaks into a ringing laugh, or rather yell. To think, he cries, how often fellow traveller and yet not know it. To think how many times he went the journey, and never saw the road. The woman kneels upon the floor with her arms crossed on the coverlet of the bed, close by him, and her chin upon them. In this crouching attitude she watches him. The pipe is falling from his mouth. She puts it back, and laying her hand upon his chest, moves him slightly from side to side. Upon that he speaks, as if she had spoken. Yes, I always made the journey first, before the changes of colours and the great landscapes and glittering processions began. They couldn't begin till it was off my mind. I had no room till then for anything else. Once more he lapses into silence. Once more she lays her hand upon his chest, and moves him slightly to and fro, as a cat might stimulate a half-slain mouse. Once more he speaks, as if she had spoken. What? I told you so? When it comes to be real at last, it is so short that it seems unreal for the first time. Hark! Yes, dearie, I'm listening. Time and place are both at hand. He is on his feet, speaking in a whisper, as if in the dark. Time, place, and fellow traveller, she suggests adopting his tone, and holding him softly by the arm. How could the time be at hand, unless the fellow traveller was? Hush! The journey's made. It's over. So soon that's what I said to you. So soon, wait a little. This is a vision. I shall sleep it off. It has been too short and easy. I must have a better vision than this. This is the poorest of all. No struggle. No fear. No struggle. No consciousness of peril. No entreaty. And yet I never saw that before, with a start. So what, dearie? Look at it.  That must be real. It's over. He has accompanied this incoherence, with some wild, unmeaning gestures. But they trail off into the progressive inaction of Stupa, and he lies a log upon the bed. The woman, however, is still inquisitive. With a repetition of her cat-like action, she slightly stirs his body again, and listens, stirs again, and listens, whispers to it, and listens. Finding it past all rousing for the time, she slowly gets upon her feet, with an air of disappointment, and flicks the face with the back of her hand in turning from it. But she goes no further away from it than the chair upon the hearth. She sits in it with an elbow upon one of its arms, and her chin upon her hand intent upon him. I heard he say once, she croaks under her breath, I heard he say once, when I was lying where you're lying, and you were making your speculations upon me, unintelligible, I heard you say so, of two more than me, but don't ye be too sure always. Don't ye be too sure, beauty? Unwinking, cat-like, and intent, she presently adds, Not so potent as it once was. Perhaps not at first. He may be more right there. Practice makes perfect. I may have learned the secret how to make ye talk, dearie. He talks no more whether or no, twitching in an ugly way from time to time, both as to his face and limbs. He lies heavy and silent. The wretched candle burns down, and the woman takes its expiring end between her fingers, blights another at it, crams the guttering, frying morsel deep into the candlestick, and rams it home with the new candle, as if she were loading some ill-savoured and unseemly weapon of witchcraft. The new candle in its turn burns down, and still he lies insensible. At length what remains of the last candle is blown out, and daylight looks into the room. It has not looked very long when he sits up, chilled and shaking, slowly recovers consciousness of where he is and makes himself ready to depart. The woman receives what he pays her with a grateful bless ye, bless ye, dearie, and seems tired out to begin making herself ready for sleep as he leaves the room. But seeming may be false or true. It is false in this case, for the moment the stairs have ceased to creak under his tread, she glides after him, muttering emphatically, I'll not miss ye twice. There is no egress from the court but by its entrance. With a weird peep from the doorway, she watches for his looking back. He does not look back before disappearing with a wavering step. She follows him, peeps from the court, sees him still faltering on without looking back, and holds him in view. He repairs to the back of Aldersgate Street where a door immediately opens to his knocking. She crouches in another doorway, watching that one, and easily comprehending that he puts up temporarily at that house. Her patience is unexhausted by hours. For sustenance she can and does bread within a hundred yards, and milk as it is carried past her. He comes forth again at noon, having changed his dress but carrying nothing in his hand, and having nothing carried for him. He is not going back into the country, therefore, just yet. She follows him a little way, hesitates, instantaneously turns confidently, and goes straight into the house he has quitted. Is the gentleman from Cloisterham indoors? Just gone out. Unducky, when does the gentleman return to Cloisterham? At six this evening. Bless ye and thank ye. May the Lord prosper a business where a civil question, even from a poor soul, is so civilly answered. I'll not miss ye twice, repeats the poor soul in the street, and not so civilly. I lost ye last, where that omnibus you got into nigh your journey's end plied betwixt the station and the place. I wasn't so much as certain that you even went right onto the place. Now I know ye did. My gentleman from Cloisterham, I'll be there before ye and bide your coming. I've sworn on my oath that I'll not miss ye twice. Accordingly that same evening, the poor soul stands in Cloisterham High Street, looking at the many quaint gables of the nun's house, and getting through the time as she best can until nine o'clock, at which hour she has reason to suppose that the arriving omnibus passengers may have some interest for her. The friendly darkness at that hour renders it easy for her to ascertain whether this be so or not. And it is so, for the passenger not to be missed twice arrives among the rest. Now let me see what becomes of you. Go on. An observation addressed to the air, and yet it might be addressed to the passenger so compliantly does he go on along the High Street until he comes to an arched gateway at which he unexpectedly vanishes. The poor soul quickens her pace, is swift and close upon him entering under the gateway, but only sees a post and staircase on one side of it. On the other side an ancient faulted room in which a large-headed grey-haired gentleman is writing under the odd circumstances of sitting open to the thoroughfare and eyeing all who pass as if he were toll-taker of the gateway, though the way is free. Hello! he cries in a low voice seeing her brought to a standstill. Who are you looking for? There's a gentleman passed in here this minute, sir. Of course there was. What do you want with him? Where do he live, dearie? Div, up that staircase. Bless ye. Whisper. What's his name, dearie? Sir name? Jasper. Christian name? John. Mr. John Jasper. Has he a calling, good gentleman? Calling? Yes, sings in the choir. In the spire? Choir. What's that? Mr. Dattery rises from his papers and comes to his doorstep.  The woman nods. What is it? She looks puzzled, casting about in her mind to find her definition when it occurs to her that it is easier to point out the substantial object itself massive against the dark blue sky and the early stars. That's the answer. Go in there at seven tomorrow morning and you may see Mr. John Jasper and hear him too. Thank ye. Thank ye. The burst of triumph in which he thanks him does not escape the notice of the single buffer of an easy temper living idly on his means. He glances at her, clasps his hands behind him as the want of such buffers is, and lounges along the echoing precincts at her side. Or, he suggests with a backward hitch of his head, you can go up at once to Mr. Jasper's rooms there.  Oh! you don't want to speak to him!  You can admire him at a distance three times a day whenever you like. It's a long way to come for that, though. The woman looks up quickly. If Mr. Dattery thinks she is to be so induced to declare where she comes from, he is of a much easier temper than she is.  The chink of the money has an attraction for her greedy ears. Wouldn't you help me to pay for my traveller's lodgings, dear gentlemen? And to pay my way along? I am a poor soul, I am indeed, and troubled with a grievous cough. You know the traveller's lodgings I perceive and are making directly for it, is Mr. Dattery's bland comment, still rattling his loose money. Being here often, my good woman, once in all my life, I, I, they have arrived at the entrance to the monk's vineyard. An appropriate remembrance, presenting an exemplary model for imitation, is revived in the woman's mind by the sight of the place. She stops at the gate and says energetically, By this token, though you may not believe it, that a young gentleman gave me three and sixpence as I was coughing my breath away on this very grass. I asked him for three and sixpence, and he gave it me. Wasn't it a little cool to name your sum? Hence Mr. Dattery is still rattling. Isn't it customary to leave the amount open? Mightn't it have had the appearance to the young gentleman, only the appearance, that he was rather dictated to? Looky here, dearie! She replies in a confidential and persuasive tone, I wanted the money to lay it out on a medicine as does me good, and as I deal in, I told the young gentleman so, and he gave it me, and I laid it out on his to the last brass farven. I want to lay out the same sum in the same way now, and if you'll give it me, I'll lay it out on his to the last brass farven again upon my soul. What's the medicine? I'll be honest with you beforehand, as well as I'll... It's opium. Mr. Dattery, with a sudden change of countenance, gives her a sudden look. It's opium, dearie, neither more nor less. And it's like a human creature so far, that you always hear what can be said against it, but seldom what can be said in its praise. Mr. Dattery begins very slowly to count out the sum demanded of him. Greedily watching his hands, she continues to hold forth on the great example set him. It was last Christmas Eve, just a-a-dark. The once that I was here before, when the young gentleman gave me the three and six. Mr. Dattery stops in his counting, finds he has counted wrong, shakes his money together and begins again. And the young gentleman's name, she adds, was Edwin. Mr. Dattery drops some money. Stoops to pick it up and reddens with the exertion, as he asks. How do you know the young gentleman's name? I asked him for it, and he told it me. I only asked him the two questions. What was his christen name, and whether he'd a sweet heart? And he answered Edwin, and he hadn't. Mr. Dattery pauses with the selected coins in his hand, rather as if he were falling into a brown study of their value, and couldn't bear to part with them. The woman looks at him distrustfully, and with her anger brewing for the event of his thinking better of the gift. But he bestows it on her, as if he were abstracting his mind from the sacrifice. And with many servile thanks she goes her way. John Jasper's lamp is kindled, and his lighthouse is shining, when Mr. Dattery returns alone towards it. As mariners on a dangerous voyage, approaching an iron-bound coast, may look along the beams of the warning light to the haven lying beyond it, that may never be reached. So Mr. Dattery's wistful gaze is directed to this beacon and beyond. His object in our revisiting his lodging is merely to put on the hat which seems so superfluous an article in his wardrobe. It is half-past ten by the cathedral clock when he walks into the precincts again. He lingers and looks about him as though the enchanted hour when Mr. Dirtles may be stoned home having struck. He had some expectation of seeing the imp, who is appointed to the mission of stoning him. In effect that power of evil is abroad. Having nothing living to stone at the moment, he is discovered by Mr. Dattery in the unholy office of Stoning the Dead through the railings of the churchyard. The imp finds this a relishing and peaking pursuit, firstly because their resting place is announced to be sacred, and secondly because the tall headstones are sufficiently like themselves on their beat in the dark to justify the delicious fancy that they are hurt when hit. Mr. Dattery hails him with, Hello, Winks.  Their acquaintance seemingly having been established on a familiar footing. But I say, he remonstrates, Don't you go now making my name public. I'll never mean to plead for no name, mind you. When they say to me in the lock-up are going to put me down in the book, what's your name? I said to them, find out. Likewise, when they say, what's your religion? I said, find out. Which it may be observed in passing would be immensely difficult for the state, however statistical to do. Aside from which, adds the boy, there ain't no family of Winks'es. I think there must be. You lie, there ain't. The travellers give me the name on account of my getting no settled sleep and being knocked up all night.  That's what Winks means. Deputy's a nice name to indict me by, but you wouldn't catch me pleading to that, neither. Deputy be it always, then. We two are good friends, eh, Deputy? Very good. I forgave you the debt you owed me when we first became acquainted, and many of my Sixpence's have come your way since, eh, Deputy? Aye, and lots more, there ain't no friend of Dastard's. What did he go hissing me off my legs for? What indeed, but never mind him now. A shilling of mine is going your way tonight, Deputy. You have just taken in a lodger I have been speaking to. An infirm woman with a cough. Puffa, a sense deputy, with a shrewd lear of recognition and smoking an imaginary pipe with his head very much on one side and his eyes very much out of their places. Hopium puffa! What is her name? Er, Royinus the Princess Puffa. She has some other name than that. Where does she live? Up in London, among the Jacks. The sailors?  I should like to know, through you, exactly where she lives. All right, give us old. A shilling passes, and in that spirit of confidence which should pervade all business transactions between principles of honour, this piece of business is considered done. But either like, cries Deputy, where do you think Er, Royinus, is going to tomorrow morning? Bless if she ain't going to the king feed the roll! He greatly prolongs the word in his ecstasy and smites his leg and doubles himself up in a fit of shrill laughter. How do you know that, Deputy? Coffee told me so, just now. She says she must be happened about of purpose. She says, Deputy, I must have an early wash and make myself as well as I can for I'm going to take a turn at the king feeder roll! He separates the syllables with his former zest and not finding his sense of the ludicrous sufficiently relieved by stamping about on the pavement, breaks into a slow and stately dance, perhaps supposed to be performed by the dean. Mr. Dattery receives the communication with a well-satisfied, though pondering face, and breaks up the conference. Returning to his quaint lodging and sitting long over the supper of bread and cheese and salad and ale which Mrs. Tope has left prepared for him, he still sits when his supper is finished. At length he rises, throws open the door of a corner cupboard, and refers to a few uncouth chalt strokes on its inner side. I like, says Mr. Dattery, the old tavern way of keeping scores. He is illegible except to the scorer. The scorer is not committed, the scored debited with what is against him. Ah, very small score this, a very poor score. He sighs over the contemplation of its poverty, takes a bit of chalk from one of the cupboard shelves, and pauses with it in his hand, uncertain what addition to make to the account. When come moderate stroke, he concludes, is all I am justified in scoring up. So suits the action to the word, closes the cupboard, and goes to bed. A brilliant morning shines on the old city. Its antiquities and ruins are surpassingly beautiful, with a lusty ivy gleaming in the sun and the rich trees waving in the barmy air. Ranges of glorious light from moving boughs, songs of birds, scents from gardens, woods, and fields, or rather from the one great garden of the whole cultivated island in its yielding time, penetrate into the cathedral, subdue its earthly odour, and preach the resurrection and the life. The cold stone tombs of centuries ago grow warm, and flecks of brightness dart into the sternest marble corners of the building, fluttering there like wings. Comes Mr. Tope with his large keys, and yawningly unlocks and sets open. Come, Mrs. Tope, and a tendon sweeping sprites, come in due time, organist and bellows-boy, peeping down from the red curtains in the loft, fearlessly flapping dust from books up at that remote elevation, and whisking it from stops and pedals. Come, sundry rooks from various quarters of the sky, back to the great tower, who may be presumed to enjoy vibration, and to know that bell and organ are going to give it them. Come, a very small and straggling congregation indeed, chiefly from minor canon corner and the precincts. Come, Mr. Crispar, called fresh and bright, and his ministering brethren not quite so fresh and bright. Come, the choir in a hurry, always in a hurry, and struggling into their nightgowns at the last moment, like children shirking bed. And comes John Jasper leading their line. Last of all comes Mr. Dattery into a stall, one of a choice, empty collection, very much at his service, and glancing about him for her royal highness, the princess puffer. The service is pretty well advanced before Mr. Dattery can discern her royal highness. But by that time he has made her out, in the shade. She is behind a pillar, carefully withdrawn from the choir master's view, but regards him with the closest attention. All unconscious of her presence he chants and sings. She grins when he is most musically fervid, and, yes, Mr. Dattery sees her do it, shakes her fist at him, behind the pillar's friendly shelter. Mr. Dattery looks again to convince himself, yes, again, as ugly and withered as one of the fantastic carvings on the under-brackets of the stall-seats, as malignant as the evil one, as hard as the big brass eagle holding the sacred books upon his wings, and, according to the sculptor's representation of his ferocious attributes, not at all converted by them, she hugs herself in her lean arms, and then shakes both fists at the leader of the choir. And at that moment, outside the grated door of the choir, having eluded the vigilance of Mr. Tope by shifty resources in which he is an adept, deputy-peeps, sharp-eyed through the bars, and stares astounded from the threatener to the threatened. The service comes to an end, and the servitor's dispersed to breakfast. Mr. Dattery accosts his last new acquaintance outside when the choir, as much in a hurry to get their bed-gowns off, as they were but now to get them on, have scuffled away. Well, Mistress, good morning. You have seen him? I've seen him, dearie. I've seen him. And you know him? Know him? Better far than all the reverent parson's put together know him. Mrs. Tope's care has spread a very neat, clean breakfast ready for her lodger. Before sitting down to it, he opens his corner-covered door, takes his bit of chalk from its shelf, adds one thick line to the score, extending from the top of the cupboard door to the bottom, and then falls two with an appetite. End of Chapter 23 and End of the Mystery of Edwin Drude, the unfinished novel by Charles Dickens is a post-script by Messrs Chapman and Hall, publishers of the original instalments of Edwin Drude, and inserted in the final published instalment. All that was left in manuscript of Edwin Drude is contained in the number now published, the six. Its last entire page had not been written two hours when the event occurred which, one very touching passage in it, was grave and sad, but also cheerful and assuring, might seem almost to have anticipated. The only notes in reference to the story that have since been found concern that portion of it exclusively, which is treated in the earlier numbers. Beyond the clues therein afforded to its conduct or catastrophe, nothing whatever remains, it is believed that what the author himself would have most desired is done in placing before the reader without further note or suggestion the fragment of The Mystery of Edwin Drude, 12th of August, 1870. Charles Dickens planned The Mystery of Edwin Drude to be published in twelve monthly parts. This last piece of Dickens' writing was the sixth part and was completed in the Swiss chalet in the grounds of Gadshill Place in the afternoon of June the 8th, 1870. That evening Dickens suffered a stroke at dinner. He remained unconscious and died the next day. Numerous attempts to solve and complete The Mystery of The Mystery of Edwin Drude have been published since 1870. The tabulation of those that were available in 1912 are currently, in the year 2009, found at gaslight.mtreoil.ca forward slash gaslight. The table may be found by following the link to Edwin Drude and the link to the tabulation is then found at the foot of the page. Among contemporary authors who have attempted a resolution is Leon Garfield, who produced a faithful and highly satisfying conclusion to Dickens' incomplete book in 1980. This book was published by Andre Deusch, but did not include an international standard book number ISBN. The British Broadcasting Corporation BBC produced a dramatised version of Edwin Drude with Leon Garfield's ending. This work is occasionally re-broadcast on BBC Radio 7. Radio 7 is available on the BBC website.


What's up everybody just here for Jasper's case base calm This was our last filler to help sell out flawless baseball random teams break with the 10 spots We're giving away here with this 2020 optic baseball one-pack break hobby edition random teams number three So first guys we're gonna do the break room randomize the customer names and the teams for the break Do the little pack filler there from a hobby pack and at the end We'll have the list because we're names here randomize those in the top 10 out of the 30 get a spot in flawless So follows is technically not sold out all we need to do though guys is sell out the last five spots full Straight up which I think we will guys So, uh, let's get this rolling guys Here we go break first roll Three to three six times one two three four five six Add down to Nancy Yeah, they also have valley in the chooskin the Later that was with the stars for a little bit and then going to the KHL three and three six times one two three four five Six Valerie was a big-time player to Royals on the Cardinals All right, so again, stick to what you got guys. So there's your teams there Label a little bladdy and a little Ken of Marta Let's switch things now guys and let's do the giveaway again top ten get in roll it six and a five eleven times good luck one two three four five six seven eight nine ten Eleven eleven times are a top ten are in Dario squeezing in at number ten Ryan Daniel Terry Kev and Nancy Gregory Paul Ed and Ed Congratulations guys, there you go top ten are in I'll paste your guys's names here on to the flawless break here And again guys that we just saw those five full straight-up spots We could get that break going next guys. Appreciate it. Jasper's case breaks calm


Are you all set to go? Let me introduce myself, I've noted some of you, Peter Martin is my name, I'm the Assistant Commissioner, responsible for the Ethical Standards Command. In short, I am responsible for the internal governance arrangements within the organisation and as part of my portfolio responsibilities I'm also responsible for the Internal Investigation Branch. So complaint management, internal investigations is generally my domain and the prosecution of this former officer ultimately is something that was facilitated by the Ethical Standards Command and I'm overall responsible for that investigation and prosecution of that particular individual and I'm happy with that to take any questions that you might have with respect to this. Can I thank you in advance for your interest in this matter? This is an issue of great concern to the organisation as I think that you have seen as a result of the way that we've dealt with it and the way that we've responded to your interest and the community interest in this matter. I'm in your hands. Peter, are they still in the service? They are currently at least three officers that we are looking at with respect to disciplinary matters and they are current officers. There are people depicted in the vision who are still members of the service that are subject of those investigations. At this particular stage, having regard for the fact that the investigation is still current, I'm not prepared to speculate in terms of which one of those officers are still members of the organisation, but I can assure you that all of those matters with respect to current suing members are currently the subject of investigations by the Ethical Standards Command investigators. What are they being investigated for? They're being investigated for internal disciplinary matters. Those matters are broad ranging but specifically with respect to their knowledge of the matters depicted in the video and that is the central theme with respect to the matter subject of investigation. That is amongst the dimensions of the investigation. Why were their faces blurred? The reason that their faces were blurred in the vision is because that these matters are as yet unresolved, that they are not finalised and to ensure from an administrative law perspective that they are afforded procedural fairness otherwise referred to as natural justice. That's correct. As far as criminal law goes, they haven't been charged with anything, so if they are able to do identifications accurately. No, from a criminal perspective they have not been charged and it's unlikely at this stage that they would be charged with a criminal offence. What about the... That's correct. Is there any chance or is there a potential investigation that they will be facing any criminal charges? No, they won't be. They've left the organisation, they have separated from the organisation and as such they will now not be pursued, nor can they be pursued with respect to other matters. So isn't there new legislation? Yes, but that legislation came in at a certain time and these matters predate that particular matter. So at this particular stage they would need to have been more recent matters that would fall under the province of that particular piece of legislation. And that's regarding superannuation? I'm sorry? That's in particular regard to superannuation matters and that sort of thing? I can't talk about the superannuation aspects of this, that's not within my domain, but what it is is that particular piece of legislation is more recent legislation designed to pursue people after they've left units of public administration so that there is a formal finding with respect to those particular people after they've left a government department. So are they still working at the same station? I can't comment on that, I'm sorry. But... Are you designing those... I'm sorry, I'm not a superannuation expert, nor am I a HR specialist. My issues are with respect to the internal investigation matters and the criminal investigations with respect to these matters. In terms of their entitlements or otherwise, that's not an area of specialisation for me. Just to be clear, some of those people in the video with their faces glued are still with the service and being invested in this program. I want to be really clear on that, yes, that is correct. There are people depicted within the video image who are still current serving officers and are now subject of internal investigation. So what can... No, look, I'm sorry, you'd have to appreciate from my perspective that as this is a current investigation and as that I am responsible ultimately for this investigation, any speculation potentially with respect to the range of offences... I know that you are and that... Okay, if we can deal with matters hypothetically and not specifically speaking about this particular matter, and I want to stress this because I can't talk about these particular matters because to some degree that would presuppose that I've formed a view with respect to what would likely be an outcome from this matter. But there is a full suite of options available to a prescribed officer that might deal with a particular internal disciplinary matter. That suite of options can include dismissal down to a caution or a reprimand. Now, that's not to say that this will be a likely outcome with respect to these matters, but that is to explain the implications of an internal disciplinary matter that is substantiated. Well, can I say to you that the criminal investigation part of this followed a normal criminal course. This came to light in May 2008 and these matters were investigated very promptly from my perspective. We deployed on the ground investigators from Ethical Standards Command in a very, very timely fashion and the investigation was concluded in a very reasonable time frame. The court process naturally has various vagaries and it does take time. There are certain disciplinary matters that could not be pursued until such time as the criminal matters are out of the way. Those matters have only recently been finalised, as finalised as a result of sentencing that occurred earlier this week that has now opened the door for us to pursue the internal disciplinary issues. That's precisely right. I think that this will be a reasonably short process, having regard for the fact that the investigation with respect to these matters is all but concluded. Rankings of you officers. I'm sorry, could you repeat that? These are reasonably junior officers at the constable, senior constable level. There's at least three officers, current serving officers that are subject to investigation. These are constable, senior constable officers. What was there another? Just excuse me for a minute. The complaint of the officer that led to this particular matter was the first complaint that I'm aware of that led to the investigation occurring. I am aware that there is speculation with respect to another officer that allegedly had come forward, but that is not within our holdings and I would dispute that that occurred. So I don't have any knowledge of that whatsoever. The complaint from the officer that commits this, the female officer to which you refer, heralded the investigation that I launched. We were aware of a previous complaint that had come that had come forward, but the officer that has recently been reported in the media as having reported that particular matter, we have no knowledge of that whatsoever. This had come through as a result of another means. And as a result of the investigation that had occurred from the Ethical Standards Command, we were active in eliciting a further complaint, the third complaint that previously hadn't been made to police. The previous complaint? That's correct. Was that treated seriously, not legally? That complaint was recorded appropriately. There was intervention taken at the local level. And to some degree, the complaint that occurred post that put that earlier complaint into a very significant light. I would say to you that there was an escalation brought about by virtue of the fact that the second complaint then caused the first complaint to be looked at in a different light. Can I also say to you that that earlier complaint that we're talking about was also interwaven with matters before court. And there was an allegation and a counter allegation. And moreover, we needed to wait until that matter had been finalised in the court process. But with the second complaint that came forward, it caused us to go back to that complaint and interrogate that complaint. And naturally enough, that caused a great concern for me and for the investigation. The first complaint that I referred to was the 18th of January 2008. And that was the matter that was interwaven with court. And the subsequent matter occurred in May 2008. So some months later in the same year. That's correct. Can I also say to you that there was a third complaint that was elicited that was previously unknown to the service that we elicited as a result of the investigation. We went back and found a further complaint. And this former officer was charged with that particular matter as well. That had never previously been the subject of a complaint to police. The much earlier complaint. The third complaint had come from the victim to a police officer. I'm sorry, it had come from the first complaint, the much earlier one back in 2007. Just to be clear, that earlier one was the one that we elicited as a result of the investigation. It had never been subject to investigation. There was a complaint back in early 2008. That particular complaint had come from a victim. The third complaint and the most recent one that had really commenced the investigation was as a result of the junior officer coming forward and making the complaint to... It was in May 2008. And it was in May 2008. So the second and third. The second one was early 2008. The third one was May 2008. And the earlier one, the much, much earlier one, was in fact in 2007. But I would point out that that much earlier one in 2007 was never the subject of a complaint as such. But it was elicited as a result of the investigation that we had facilitated. That's correct. There was never an official complaint made. There was never an official complaint made for the matter that occurred in 2007. But it had not been for the thoroughness of the investigation. We might never have heard about that particular complaint. In hindsight, I've heard of the processes that were in place at that station at the time when that first complaint was made against Mr Price and the resulting action was taken against him at that time. Was it good enough or should it have been referred to at this time? I really can't say at this particular juncture. And the reason for that is that that is the subject of now part of the suite of issues that we're looking at with respect to the investigation by and large. This investigation is focused on the criminal aspects with respect to the former officer. It's focused on also from a disciplinary perspective on the other people that may have had knowledge of this particular matter. But there's another third dimension to this as well. It's the systemic and the structural issues that have contributed to this set of circumstances. And that matter that you've raised just then is part of that ongoing suite of issues that we're looking at. Can I say to you, no, my observation of police officers with respect to this, there is a legal imposition on officers. They have to report matters that are tantamount to misconduct. There's a provision on the Police Service Administration Act that they can't turn a blind eye, they need to report. We have 3,000 or so complaints in the course of a year and I manage those on behalf of the commissioner. 3,000 complaints across Queensland, bearing in mind we're an organisation nudging something like 15,000. Now, some 25% or a quarter of all of those complaints, so 25% of 3,000 are situations in which a police officer or a staff member makes a complaint against another police officer or staff member. And I would say that irrespective of the perceived failings of a particular station at a particular given time, the reality is that people do meet their obligations and there is a high degree of reporting. I beg your pardon. Can I say to you that the five people that left the organisation, I'm not inferring that all of those people were responsible, nor am I inferring that all of those five people were present. The question was asked of us previously, who has left the organisation. There were five people shortly after this particular event and over a period of time that left the Queensland Police Service. Thank you for your point.


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