Very nice people do sometimes get mixed up with a murder. In this novel Fletcher introduces us to some extremely likeable folks, although they have no social position at all. They are the betwixt and betweens; neither the devotees of gilded folly who get careless with revolvers nor squalid outcasts who are too handy with the hatchet. They are just folks.
in his inexperience had expected to see it arrive by return of post. Also he had put his pride in his pocket, and had written a long letter to his old schoolmate, John Purdie, in far-away Scotland, explaining his present circumstances, and asking him, for old times' sake, to lend him some money until he had finished and sold a novel, which, he was sure, would turn out to be a small gold-mine. John Purdie, he knew, was now a wealthy young man--successor to his father in a fine business; Lauriston felt no doubt that he would respond. And meantime, till the expected letters came, he had money--and when you have lived for four days on two shillings, fourteen shillings seems a small fortune. Certainly, within the last half-hour, life had taken on a roseate tinge--all due to a visit to the pawnshop.
Hurrying back along Praed Street, Lauriston's steps were suddenly arrested. He found himself unconsciously hurrying by an old-fashioned eating-house, from whence came an appetizing odour of cooking food. He remember