Personal To Mr. Gimblett

Mr. Gimblett, the ex-detective, was seated one morning in his dingy little office over the furniture shop on the Waterloo Bridge road, when the clerk brought in word that “a young person” wanted to see him.

“Who is she?” inquired Mr. Gimblett.

“She says she will tell you her name herself. She has never been here before,” said the clerk.

“Begging?” suggested Mr. Gimblett.

“I think not. She doesn’t look that sort, and her manner is overbearing,” was the reply.

“A young person, did you say?” remarked Mr. Gimblett.

“Yes, sir; and not bad looking neither,” said the clerk, who perhaps knew his chief’s little weakness.

“I suppose you had better show her in,” remarked Mr. Gimblett, with an air of supreme indifference. Nevertheless, when the clerk’s back was turned, he ran his fingers through his hair, settled his cravat, and deftly rearranged the flowers in his button-hole.

The “young person” did not belie the clerk’s description—at least in Mr. Gimblett’s humble opinion. She was young, tall, had a good figure, and a pretty face. But what chiefly impressed Mr. Gimblett was the keen and penetrating glance of her dark eyes and the firmness of her mouth and chin. He instinctively guessed that he had before him a girl of unusual shrewdness and energy of character, while her calm self-possession testified to the strength of her nerves. She was very quietly yet becomingly dressed, and there was no attempt to disguise her station in life, which was evidently that of a superior sort of domestic servant.

“Pray be seated,” said Mr. Gimblett, as she entered.

“You are Mr. Gimblett, I suppose,” said the visitor, taking possession of a chair, and drawing it up to the table. “My name is Martha Chale. My father used to be in the force with you.”

“Oh, yes; I recollect,” said Mr. Gimblett, slightly disappointed at the prelude… Read More