Henty George Alfred
Colonel Thorndyke's Secret
“Now sir, what shall we do with these fellows?”
“I should say we had better leave them alone, Gibbons. I don’t want any row over the affair. It is the work of these two fellows here. I think I pretty well settled one of them.”
Gibbons stooped over Flash.
“You have broken his jaw, sir; but he will come round in time. I believe this other fellow is only shamming. I don’t see any of our handiwork upon his face. The others have all got as much as they want, I think,” and taking a candle he looked at their faces. “There is not one of them who will want to show up for a week or so,” he said, “and there are two or three who will carry the marks to their graves. Well, sir, if you don’t want anything done to them, the sooner we are off the better. Those fellows who got away may bring a lot of others down upon us. As long as it is only fists, we could march through Westminster; but as they would have knives, it is just as well to get out of it before there is any trouble. You are got up in a rum way, Mr. Thorndyke.”
“Yes; I will tell you about it afterwards. I agree with you that we had best be moving at once.”
But the men who had fled were too glad to have made their escape to think of anything but to make for their dens as quick as possible, and the party passed through the lanes into the open space in front of Parliament House without interruption.
“We will go up to your place, Ingleston, and talk it over there,” Mark said. “You can get those cuts bound up, and I shall be very glad to get a drink. That thing they shoved into my mouth hurt my tongue a good deal, and I have not gone through a pleasant half hour, I can tell you.”
He walked up past Whitehall with Gibbons and Ingleston, the others going in pairs, so as not to attract attention. As soon as they reached Ingleston’s place, the latter told the man in the bar to put the shutters up, led the way into the bar parlor, and mixed a large bowl of punch.
“Now, Gibbons, in the first place,” Mark said, after quenching his thirst, “how did you know of my being in danger?”
“Well, sir, a black sailor chap ran into my place suddenly and told me.”
“Do you mean a colored man, Gibbons?”
“Yes, sir, one of those Lascar chaps you see about the docks. I did not ask any questions, but ran as hard as I could. I had only left here five minutes before, and knew that Tring and some of the others would still be here. They did not lose a moment, and off we went. The sailor chap he kept ahead. I tried to come up to him two or three times to get to know something about it, but he always seemed to quicken his pace when I was coming up, and I soon got too blown to want to do much talking. He led us to the door, and after that I saw nothing more of him. What became of him I don’t know. I expect he was better at running than he was at fighting.”
“It is curious,” Mark said thoughtfully. “He might have been in the place when I went in, and slipped out while I was making a fight for it. I have seen a Lascar several times while I have been down there. I dare say it was the same man, though why he should take such trouble for the sake of a stranger I don’t know. There seems to be a good many of them about, for now I think of it, I have run against them several times wherever I have been in town.”
“Now, sir, what did they want to kill you for?”
“Well, Gibbons, it happened in this way. My father, you know, was murdered by a man who had a grudge against him, and who is both a highwayman and a house breaker.”
“They don’t often go together,” Ingleston said. “The highwaymen generally look down upon the burglars and keep themselves to themselves.”
“I hew they do, Ingleston; but this fellow has been a convict, and is not particular what he turns his hand to. The detectives have been after him for a long time, but have failed, and I determined to take the matter up myself, and ever since I have been up here I have been hunting about in the worst quarters of the town. The people of Bow Street have aided me in every way they could, and I suppose some of these men have seen me go in or out of the place. Of course, when I am going into these bad quarters, I put on a disguise and manage to get in with some of these thieves, and so to try to get news of him through them. Three weeks ago I decided to try Westminster. I was getting on uncommonly well there, principally because I gave a tremendous thrashing to a fellow they call Black Jim. He has been a prize fighter.”
“I know him,” Tring said; “it was the fellow that was kicked out for selling a fight. He was not a bad man with his fists, either; but I expect you astonished him, Mr. Thorndyke.”
“Yes, I knocked him out of time in three rounds. Well, he has been a bully down there, and everyone was very glad he was taken down. After that I got to know several of the worst lot down there. They fancied that I was one of themselves, and several of them made proposals to me to join them, and, of course, I encouraged the idea in hopes of coming upon the man that I was after. Then some fellow in the street recognized me, I suppose, and denounced me to the rest as being one of the runners. I suppose he told them this evening, before I went in.
“The place was a regular thieves’ den, which, of course, was why I went there. Naturally they were furious, especially those who had been proposing to me to join them. Anyhow, they had evidently settled among themselves that I was to be put out of the way, and directly I went in I was attacked. I knocked down a few of them, but they jumped on my back, and one of them managed to get a rope round my legs, and down I went with three or four of them, and before I could get up again they had tied and gagged me. Then they held a sort of court. Man after man got up and said that I had been drawing them on to find out what they were up to, and had agreed to join them, of course with the intention of getting them caught in the act, and two got up and said that they knew me as one of the runners. They all agreed that I must be put out of the way.
“I suppose, as the landlord did not want blood spilt in his house, they did not knife me at once; however, they told me that they had decided that as soon as the coast was clear I should be carried down to the river, and chucked in, with an old anchor tied to my neck. I had just a gleam of hope a short time before you came in, for then it had been settled that it was just as well no more should be engaged in the affair than was necessary, and that Black Jim, with two others, whom I had been talking to, and the two men who had told them that I was a runner, should manage it, and the rest were to go off to their homes.
“I had been all the time trying to loosen my ropes, and had got one of my hands nearly free, and I thought that if they waited another half hour I might have got them both free, and been able to make a bit of a fight of it, though I had very little hope of getting my legs free.
“However, I had my eye on the knife of the man who was sitting next to me, and who was one of those who was to stay. I thought that if I had my hands free, I could snatch his knife, settle him, and then cut the ropes from my legs; that done, I could, I think, have managed Black Jim and the others. As for the men who denounced me, they were small men, and I had no fear of them in a fight, unless; as I thought likely enough, they might have pistols. One of them is the fellow whose jaw I broke; I hit him hard, for he had a pistol in his hand.”
“There is no doubt you hit him hard,” Gibbons said dryly. “He looked a better sort than the rest.”
“Yes, the fellow was a card sharper whom I once detected at cheating; and so was the one who was lying next to him, the man whom you said you thought was shamming.”
By this time the men’s wounds were all bandaged up. Mark told them that he would be round there again in the morning, and hoped that they would all be there.
“I shall go home at once, and turn in,” he said. “Straining at those cords has taken the skin off my wrists, and I feel stiff all over; it will be a day or two, Gibbons, before I am able to put the gloves on again. I wish I could find that Lascar; I owe him a heavy debt.”
As Mark made his way home he thought a good deal about the colored sailor. If the man had been in the den the ruffians would hardly have ventured to have attacked him in the presence of a stranger. Of course, he might have been passing, and have seen the fray through the window, but in that case he would run to the nearest constable. How could he know anything about his habits, and why should he have gone to Gibbons for assistance? That, and the fact that he had so often observed Lascars in the places he had gone to, certainly looked as if he had been watched, and if so, it could only be connected with those diamonds. It was a curious thing altogether.
The next morning he went early to Bow Street. As soon as the chief came he related the events of the previous evening, and told him that it was Flash and Emerson who had denounced him.
“I know the place,” the officer said. “It is one of the worst thieves’ dens in London. However, it is just as well you decided not to take any steps. Of course, all the fellows would have sworn that they did not intend to do any harm, but that Flash had put them up to frightening you, and I doubt whether any jury would have convicted. As to the other men, we know that they are all thieves, and some of them worse; but the mere fact that they proposed to you to join in their crimes won’t do, as no actual crime was committed. However, I shall have the gang closely watched, and, at any rate, you had better leave Westminster alone; someone else must take up the work of looking for that man you were on the watch for. Anyhow, you had best take a week’s rest; there is no doubt you have had a very narrow escape. It is strange about that Lascar; he might not have cared for going in to take part in the fray, but you would have thought that he would have waited outside to get a reward for bringing those men to your rescue.”
As Mark did not care to tell about the diamonds till the time came for getting them, he made no reply, beyond expressing an agreement with the chief’s surprise at the man not having remained to the end of the fray. On leaving Bow Street he went up to Ingleston’s. The men who had rescued him the night before were gathered there; and he presented each of them with a check for twenty-five guineas.
“I know very well,” he said, “that you had no thought of reward when you hurried down to save me, but that is no reason why I should not show my gratitude to you for the service you have rendered me; some of you might very well have been seriously hurt, if not killed, by their knives. At any rate, I insist upon you taking it; money is always useful, you know, and it is not often so well earned as this.”
The men were greatly pleased, and Tring said:
“Well, sir, if you get into another scrape you may be sure that you can count upon us.”
“I shall try and not get into any more,” Mark laughed. “This has been a good deal more serious than I had bargained for, and I shall be very careful in the future.”
CHAPTER XV
“The burglary season seems to have recommenced in earnest,” Mark’s chief said some nine months after he had been at work. “For a time there had been a lull, as you know, but I have had three reports this week, and it strikes me that they are by the same hand as before; of course I may be mistaken, but they are done in a similar way, the only difference being that there is ground for believing that only one man is engaged in them. I fancy the fellow that you are after has either been away from London for some time, or has been keeping very quiet. At any rate, we have every ground for believing that he keeps himself aloof from London thieves, which is what I should expect from such a man. If one has nerve enough to do it, there is nothing like working singly; when two or three men are engaged, there is always the risk of one being caught and turning Queen’s evidence, or of there being a quarrel, and of his peaching from revenge.
“If your man has been away from town, he has certainly not been working any one district; of course, one gets the usual number of reports from different quarters; but although burglaries are frequent enough, there has been no complaint of a sudden increase of such crimes as there would have been judging from the numerous daring attempts here, had Bastow been concerned; therefore I feel sure that he has been living quietly. He would have his mate’s share—that man you shot, you know—of the plunder they made together; he would know that after that affair at your place there would be a vigilant hunt for him, and it is likely enough that he has retired altogether from business for a time.
“However, men of that sort can never stand a quiet life long, and are sure sooner or later to take to their trade again, if only for the sake of its excitement. Now that the burglaries have begun again, I shall be glad if you will devote yourself entirely to this business. You have served a good apprenticeship, and for our sake as well as yours I should be glad for you to have it in hand.”
“I shall be very pleased to do so, sir. Although we do not know where he is to be found, I think I can say that it is not in the slums of London; it seems to me that he may be quietly settled as an eminently respectable man almost under our noses; he may show himself occasionally at fashionable resorts, and may be a regular attendant at horse races.
“He would not run any appreciable risk in doing so, for his face is quite unknown to anyone except the constables who were present at his trial, and even these would scarcely be likely to recognize him, for he was then but eighteen, while he is now six or seven and twenty, and no doubt the life he has led must have changed him greatly.”
“I quite agree with you,” the chief said. “After the first hunt for him was over, he might do almost anything without running much risk. Well, I put the matter in your hands, and leave it to you to work out in your own way; you have given ample proof of your shrewdness and pluck, and in this case especially I know that you will do everything that is possible. Of course you will be relieved of all other duties, and if it takes you months before you can lay hands upon him, we shall consider it time well spent, if you succeed at last. From time to time change your quarters, but let me know your address, so that, should I learn anything that may be useful, I can communicate with you at once. You had better take another name than that by which you are known in the force. I shall be glad if, after thinking the matter over, you will write me a few lines stating what you propose to do in the first place.”
Mark went back to his lodgings, and sat there for some time, thinking matters over. His first thought was to attend the races for a time, but seeing the number of people there, and his own ignorance of Bastow’s appearance, he abandoned the idea, and determined to try a slower but more methodical plan. After coming to that conclusion he put on his hat and made his way to Mrs. Cunningham’s.
“Well, Mr. Constable,” Millicent said saucily, as he entered, “any fresh captures?”
“No, I think that I have for the present done with that sort of thing; I have served my apprenticeship, and am now setting up on my own account.”
“How is that, Mark?”
“There is reason to believe that Bastow has begun his work again near London. As I have told you, it is absolutely certain that he is not hiding in any of the places frequented by criminals here, and there is every reason for supposing that he has been leading a quiet life somewhere, or that he has been away in the country. As long as that was the case, there was nothing to be done; but now that he seems to have set to work again, it is time for me to be on the move. I have seen the chief this morning, and he has released me from all other’ duty, and given me carte blanche to work in my own way.”
“Then why don’t you leave the force altogether, Mark? You know that I have always thought it hateful that you should be working under orders, like any other constable.”
“Of course, women don’t like to be under orders, Millicent; but men are not so independent, and are quite content to obey those who are well qualified to give orders. I have had a very interesting time of it.”
“Very interesting!” she said scornfully. “You have nearly been killed or shot half a dozen times; you have been obliged to wear all sorts of dirty clothes, to sleep in places where one would not put a dog, and generally to do all sorts of things altogether unbecoming in your position.”
“My dear, I have no particular position,” he laughed, and then went on more seriously: “My one position at present is that of avenger of my father’s murder, and nothing that can assist me in the task is unbecoming to me; but, as I said, it has been interesting, I may almost say fascinating, work. I used to be fond of hunting, but I can tell you that it is infinitely more exciting to hunt a man than it is to hunt a fox. You are your own hound, you have to pick up the scent, to follow it up, however much the quarry may wind and double, and when at last you lay your hand upon his shoulder and say, ‘In the King’s name,’ there is an infinitely keener pleasure than there is when the hounds run down the fox. One sport is perhaps as dangerous as the other: in the one case your horse may fail at a leap and you may break your neck, in the other you may get a bullet in your head; so in that respect there is not much to choose between man and fox hunting. There is the advantage, though, that in the one you have to depend upon your horse’s strength, and in the other on your own courage.”
“I know that you are an enthusiast over it, Mark, and I can fancy that if I were a big strong man, as you are, I might do the same; but if you are going now to try by yourself, why should you not leave the force altogether?”
“Because, in the first place, I shall get all the information they obtain, and can send for any assistance that I may require. In the next place, by showing this little staff with its silver crown, I show that I am a Bow Street runner, and can obtain information at once from all sorts of people which I could not get without its aid.”
“Well, I won’t say anything more against it, Mark. How are you going to begin?”
“I mean to go the round of all the places near London—say, within ten miles. I shall stay from a week to a fortnight in each, take a quiet lodging, give out that I am on the lookout for a small house with a garden, and get to talk with people of all kinds.”
“But I cannot see what you have to inquire for.”
“I imagine that Bastow will have taken just the sort of house that I am inquiring for, and in the course of my questions I may hear of someone living in just that sort of way—a retired life, not making many friends, going up to London sometimes, and keeping, perhaps, a deaf old woman as a servant, or perhaps a deaf old man—someone, you see, who would not be likely to hear him if he came home in the middle of the night, or in the early morning. Once I hear of such a man, I should ascertain his age, and whether generally he agreed in appearance with what Bastow is likely to be by this time, then get down one of the constables who was at the trial, and take his opinion on the subject, after which we should only have to watch the house at night and pounce upon him as he came back from one of his excursions. That is the broad outline of my plan. I cannot help thinking that in the long run I shall be able to trace him, and of course it will make it all the easier if he takes to stopping coaches or committing murderous burglaries.”
“Then I suppose we are not going to see you often, Mark?”
“Well, not so often as you have done, Millicent, for some time, at any rate. I shall not be more than five or six miles away, and I shall often ride into town for the evening, and return late with some sort of hope that I may be stopped on the road again; it would save me a world of trouble, you see, if he would come to me instead of my having to find him.”
“Which side of London are you going to try first?”
“The south side, certainly; there are a score of places that would be convenient to him—Dulwich, Clapham, Tooting, Wimbledon, Stockwell; the list is a long one. I should say Wimbledon was about the most distant, and I should think that he would not go so far as that; if he only acted as a highwayman he might be as far off as Epsom; but if he is really the man concerned in these burglaries he must be but a short distance away. He would hardly risk having to ride very far with the chance of coming upon the patrols. I think that I shall begin at Peckham; that is a central sort of position, and from there I shall work gradually west; before I do so perhaps I shall try Lewisham. He is likely, in any case, to be quite on the outskirts of any village he may have settled in, in order that he may ride in and out at any hour without his coming and going being noticed.”
“You certainly seem to have thought it over in all ways, Mark; you almost infect me with your ardor, and make me wish that I was a man and could help you.”
“You are much nicer as you are, Millicent.”
The girl tossed her head in disdain at the compliment.
“It is all very well, Mark,” she went on, ignoring his speech, “but it seems to me that in finding out things a woman would be able to do just as much as a man; she can gossip with her neighbors and ask about everyone in a place quite as well, if not better, than a man.”
“Yes I don’t doubt that,” Mark laughed, “and if I want your aid I shall have no hesitation in asking for it. Until then I hope you will go on with your painting and harping steadily, like a good little girl.”
“I am nearly eighteen, sir, and I object to be called a good little girl.”
“Well, if I were to say a good young woman you would not like it.”
“No, I don’t think I should. I don’t know why, but when anyone says a girl is a good young woman or a nice young woman, there always seems something derogatory about it; it is almost as bad as saying she is a very respectable young person, which is odious.”
“Then, you see,” he went on, “you are quite getting on in society; since Mr. Cotter’s introduction to Mrs. Cunningham and his mother’s subsequent call you have got to know a good many people and go about a good deal.”
“Yes, it has been more lively of late,” she admitted. “At first it was certainly monstrously dull here, and I began to think that we should have to change our plans and go down again to Weymouth, and settle there for a time. Now I am getting contented; but I admit, even at the risk of making you conceited, that we shall certainly miss you very much, as you have been very good, considering how busy you have been, to come in three or four evenings every week for a chat.”
“There has been nothing very good about it, Millicent; it has been very pleasant to me; it is like a bit of old times again when I am here with you two, and seem to leave all the excitement of one’s work behind as I come in at the door.”
“I wonder whether the old time will ever come back again, Mark?” she said sadly.
“It never can be quite the old time again, but when you are back at the old place it may be very near it.”
She looked at him reproachfully.
“You think that I shall change my mind, Mark, but at heart you know better. The day I am one and twenty I hope to carry out my intentions.”
“Well, as I have told you before, Millicent, I cannot control your actions, but I am at least master of my own. You can give away Crowswood to whom you like, but at least you cannot compel me to take it. Make it over to one of the hospitals if you like—that is within your power; but it is not in your power to force me into the mean action of enriching myself because you have romantic notions in your mind. I should scorn myself were I capable of doing such an action. I wonder you think so meanly of me as to suppose for a moment that I would do so.”
“It is a great pity my father did not leave the property outright to your father, then all this bother would have been avoided,” she said quietly. “I should still have had plenty to live upon without there being any fear of being loved merely for my money.”
“It would have been the same thing if he had,” Mark said stubbornly. “My father would not have taken it, and I am sure that I should not have taken it after him; you are his proper heiress. I don’t say if he had left a son, and that son had been a second Bastow, that one would have hesitated, for he would probably have gambled it away in a year, the tenants might have been ruined, and the village gone to the dogs. Every man has a right to disinherit an unworthy son, but that is a very different thing from disinheriting a daughter simply from a whim. Well, don’t let us talk about it any more, Millicent. It is the only thing that we don’t agree about, and therefore it is best left alone.”
The next day Mark established himself at an inn in Peckham, and for six weeks made diligent inquiries, but without success. There were at least a dozen men who lived quietly and rode or drove to their business in town. Many of them were put aside as needing no investigation, having been residents there for years. Some of the others he saw start or return, but none of them corresponded in any way with the probable appearance of the man for whom he was in search. During this time he heard of several private coaches being held up on the road between Epsom and London, and three burglaries took place at Streatham.
He then moved to Stockwell. Before proceeding there he had his horse up again from Crowswood, and rode into Stockwell from the west. He was dressed now as a small country squire, and had a valise strapped behind his saddle. The inn there was a busy one.
“I want a room,” he said, as he alighted. “I shall probably stay here a few days.”
Presently he had a talk with the landlord.
“I am on the lookout,” he said, “for a little place near town. I have come in for a small estate in the country, but I have no taste for farming, and want to be within easy reach of town, and at the same time to have a place with a paddock where I can keep my horse and live quietly. I don’t much care whether it is here or anywhere else within a few miles of town, and I intend to ride about and see if I can find a place that will suit me. I do not want to be nearer the town than this, for I have not money enough to go the pace; still, I should like to be near enough to ride or walk in whenever I have a fancy for it.”
“I understand, sir. Of course there are plenty of places round here, at Clapham and Tooting, and I may say Streatham, but most of them are a deal too large for a bachelor, still I have no doubt you would find a place to suit you without much difficulty. These sort of places are most in request by London tradesmen who have given up business and want to get a little way out of town and keep a gig. I should say there must be a score of such people living round here. I am often asked about such places, but I don’t know of one to let just at the present moment.
“Still, there ought to be, for of late people have not cared so much to come out here; there has been such a scare owing to highwaymen and burglars, that men with wives and families don’t fancy settling out of town, though there aint much work about it, for to every one house that is broken into there are thousands that are not, and besides, the houses that these fellows try are large places, where there is plenty of silver plate and a few gold watches, and perhaps some money to be had.”
Mark soon made the acquaintance of the stablemen, and a few pints of beer put them on good terms with him. Every day he took rides round the neighborhood, going out early, stabling his horse, and after having a chat with the ostlers, strolling round the place. Clapham, Ewell, and Streatham were also visited.
“I know of a place that would just suit you,” the ostler at the Greyhound at Streatham said to him, on the occasion of his third visit there; “but it is let; my old mother is the gentleman’s housekeeper. He took the place through me, for he rode up just as you have done, one afternoon, nigh a year ago. He was from town, he was; he told me that he had been going the pace too hard, and had to pull in, and wanted a little place where he could keep his horse and live quiet for a time. I told him of a place that I thought would suit him just outside the town, and he called in the next day and told me he had taken it. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I want a woman as house keeper; an old woman, you know. I cannot be bothered with a young one. If you speak a civil word to a wench she soon fancies you are in love with her. I want one who can cook a chop or a steak, fry me a bit of bacon, and boil an egg and keep the place tidy. I intend to look after my horse myself.’
“‘Well, sir,’ I said, ‘there is my old mother. She is a widow, and it is as much as she can do to keep off the parish. She is reckoned a tidy cook and a good cleaner, and she could keep herself well enough if it wasn’t that she is so hard of hearing that many people don’t care to employ her.’
“‘I don’t care a rap about that,’ he said. ‘I shall not need to talk to her except to tell her what I will have for dinner, and if she is deaf she won’t want to be away gossiping. Does she live near here?’
“‘She lives in the town,’ I said. ‘I can fetch her down in half an hour.’
“‘That will do,’ says he. ‘I am going to have lunch. When I have, done I will come out and speak with her.’
“Well, sir, he engaged her right off, and he tipped me a guinea for finding the place for him, and there he has been ever since. It was a lucky job for mother, for she says there never was a gentleman that gave less trouble. He is a wonderful quiet man, and in general stops at home all the day smoking and reading. He has a boy comes in two or three times a week to work in the garden. Sometimes of an evening he rides up to town. I expect he cannot keep away from the cards altogether.”
