"Try some other means of justifying your vile calumny against my wife," says he."Her milliner's bill for the past year is on my file of receipted accounts at this moment.""Excuse me, sir," says I, "but that proves nothing.Milliners, Imust tell you, have a certain rascally custom which comes within the daily experience of our office.A married lady who wishes it can keep two accounts at her dressmaker's; one is the account which her husband sees and pays; the other is the private account, which contains all the extravagant items, and which the wife pays secretly, by installments, whenever she can.According to our usual experience, these installments are mostly squeezed out of the housekeeping money.In your case, I suspect, no installments have been paid; proceedings have been threatened;Mrs.Yatman, knowing your altered circumstances, has felt herself driven into a corner, and she has paid her private account out of your cash-box.""I won't believe it," says he."Every word you speak is an abominable insult to me and to my wife.""Are you man enough, sir," says I, taking him up short, in order to save time and words, "to get that receipted bill you spoke of just now off the file, and come with me at once to the milliner's shop where Mrs.Yatman deals?"He turned red in the face at that, got the bill directly, and put on his hat.I took out of my pocket-book the list containing the numbers of the lost notes, and we left the house together immediately.
Arrived at the milliner's (one of the expensive West-End houses, as I expected), I asked for a private interview, on important business, with the mistress of the concern.It was not the first time that she and I had met over the same delicate investigation.
The moment she set eyes on me she sent for her husband.Imentioned who Mr.Yatman was, and what we wanted.
"This is strictly private?" inquires the husband.I nodded my head.
"And confidential?" says the wife.I nodded again.
"Do you see any objection, dear, to obliging the sergeant with a sight of the books?" says the husband.
"None in the world, love, if you approve of it," says the wife.
All this while poor Mr.Yatman sat looking the picture of astonishment and distress, q uite out of place at our polite conference.The books were brought, and one minute's look at the pages in which Mrs.Yatman's name figured was enough, and more than enough, to prove the truth of every word that I had spoken.
There, in one book, was the husband's account which Mr.Yatman had settled; and there, in the other, was the private account, crossed off also, the date of settlement being the very day after the loss of the cash-box.This said private account amounted to the sum of a hundred and seventy-five pounds, odd shillings, and it extended over a period of three years.Not a single installment had been paid on it.Under the last line was an entry to this effect: "Written to for the third time, June 23d." Ipointed to it, and asked the milliner if that meant "last June."Yes, it did mean last June; and she now deeply regretted to say that it had been accompanied by a threat of legal proceedings.
"I thought you gave good customers more than three years'
credit?" says I.
The milliner looks at Mr.Yatman, and whispers to me, "Not when a lady's husband gets into difficulties."She pointed to the account as she spoke.The entries after the time when Mr.Yatman's circumstances became involved were just as extravagant, for a person in his wife's situation, as the entries for the year before that period.If the lady had economized in other things, she had certainly not economized in the matter of dress.
There was nothing left now but to examine the cash-book, for form's sake.The money had been paid in notes, the amounts and numbers of which exactly tallied with the figures set down in my list.
After that, I thought it best to get Mr.Yatman out of the house immediately.He was in such a pitiable condition that I called a cab and accompanied him home in it.At first he cried and raved like a child; but I soon quieted him; and I must add, to his credit, that he made me a most handsome apology for his language as the cab drew up at his house door.In return, I tried to give him some advice about how to set matters right for the future with his wife.He paid very little attention to me, and went upstairs muttering to himself about a separation.Whether Mrs.
Yatman will come cleverly out of the scrape or not seems doubtful.I should say myself that she would go into screeching hysterics, and so frighten the poor man into forgiving her.But this is no business of ours.So far as we are concerned, the case is now at an end, and the present report may come to a conclusion along with it.
I remain, accordingly, yours to command, THOMAS BULMER.
_P.S_.--I have to add that, on leaving Rutherford Street, I met Mr.Matthew Sharpin coming to pack up his things.
