Last of all, that child in the glade--a child strayed from one of the
cottages, or the child of some woodcutter who had brought her with
him, who was perhaps a very little way off, who listened to the tale
of what the child had seen five minutes after she had seen it. Of
course nothing much would be thought of the child's tale at first; but
it would assume importance directly suspicion had been aroused; it
would link up with other circumstances, it would suggest new ideas and
further researches to the minds of detectives, it might be the clue
that eventually hanged him.
It seemed to Dale as he went over things in this quivering, quaking
manner that, from the little girl weaving flowers back to the two Jews
selling slops, he had recruited an army of witnesses to denounce and
destroy him.
Only in one respect had he not bungled. He got rid of the clothes and
hat all right. Cut and torn into narrow stripes they had gone
comfortably down the drains of the temperance hotel in Stamford
Street. That was a night's wise labor. But the labor and thoughtful
care had come too late, on top of all the previous folly.
And he said to himself, "It's prob'ly all up with me. This quiet is
the usual trick of the p'lice to throw you off the scent.
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