spirited elderly lady, dressed in the fashion, bearing down on him, a gay parasol held over her French bonnet. In politeness he asked her to inspect his sketch.
'That's well done,' she said. 'I can see you're no slouch of an artist. By the bye, I'm Dr Palmer's mother, and not ashamed of it, neither. Yes, they hanged my saintly Billy! He was a bit of a scamp right enough, but a good son to me; the best of the brood, except Sarah, and no murderer. Yonder merry child riding on the swing is his son, my little grandson Willie, and I shall see he doesn't lack for money, poor creature! When the time comes, I'll send him abroad with Sarah, and have his name changed. Sarah promised Billy, that; she always loved Billy. Yes, the pretty nursemaid in charge of Willie is Eliza Tharm all right; she's a brave, good-natured girl, and I shan't forget her in my will.'
Our artist had the hardiness to ask Mrs Palmer whether she knew what her son had meant when he said:' I did not poison him by strychnine.'
'Why, that's plain,' she answered. 'It would have gone against his conscience to say 'I didn't poison Cook'; he had got his own back on Cook—do you see?—for that ill-natured lark of George Bate's insurance, by giving the joker a drug to make him feel sick and sorry. It was tartar emetic, which contains antimony. Billy told Shee of it, which was why Shee believed in his innocence. He didn't make it a fatal dose, of course; but the devil of it was, Professor Taylor had pronounced, at first, that Cook died of antimony. That turned tartar emetic into a poison, which it never
was reckoned before; so Billy couldn't own up to his lark. He thought himself safe when Taylor changed his mind and spoke of strychnine; but he had disposed of what he bought from Hawkins's to that misshaped dwarf Dyke in London, for his nobbling business, and it was not to be got back. Worse still, Cook must go and die of some unknown disease, like a fool! The trouble is, I understand, that if one accidentally causes the death of a man while engaged in a felony—and so Billy was—the Law reckons it to be murder. Billy feared the tartar emetic might have caused the convulsions. That's what was on his mind, my poor, dear rascal! Will Saunders, who's a fine fellow, would have sworn that Billy intended to use the strychnine on those hounds which were running his mares; but Captain Hatton—damn his eyes!—made Will 'safe', as they say.
'I've had a great many unkind letters from all and sundry. For the most part, they speak of my affair with that cowardly rogue Jerry Smith. But I've finished it, once and for all. He can sink or swim as he pleases.
'There's been kind letters, too, and some strange ones, and the strangest of all came from a lady who signs herself 'Jane Smirke' —Jane Widnall, as was. She knew my Billy at Liverpool and Haywood, and feels guilty for leading him astray. He was a very good boy, she says, and now if she can be of any service to me in my affliction, etc. . . .
'But that letter I could not answer; my heart was too full; besides, she gave me no address. . .'
