At the Prince of Wales Hotel, which was situated within a quarter of a mile of Charing Cross, a young woman was employed as a barmaid and assistant book-keeper. She was known as Ellen Jackson, and she bore a strong family likeness to the man I had been watching. Her face had an unpleasant cast about it, and there was the same sullen mien. She had, however, a fine figure and dressed well. She bore a good character in the hotel, and was considered clever at arithmetic.
I took up my residence at the Prince of Wales for a few days, and became acquainted with Miss Ellen Jackson. The Prince of Wales was a quiet family house, much patronized by elderly gentlemen from the country, and Sir Peter Elsworthy had been in the habit of staying there, on and off, for several years, so that he was well kn
